#I miss her so much and she was so into everything and underfoot I keep seeing her everywhere

[egglygreg]

...

[writingbuckets]

𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐬: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢

paige bueckers x reader

wc: 1.8k

a/n: hi! this is the first part, i intend for it to be 6-8 parts, to a concept i've been thinking about for a while, i wanted to try my hand out at writing and this is what became of that. thank you so much for reading and feel free to let me know what you think <3

The bass of the music thumped through the walls, vibrating the floor underfoot as you stepped into the packed house. It was the usual scene—loud music, sweaty bodies, and the unmistakable scent of too much cheap beer. 

The party had been the first time you had gone out in months, and stepping into the crowded, chaotic atmosphere felt like an assault on your senses. You had been using studying as an excuse to avoid the social scene, claiming your coursework was overwhelming you—it was your hardest year, after all, and no one questioned your dedication to school. But that wasn’t the real reason you had been staying in.

The truth was, you’d been avoiding any place where you might run into Paige. After your non-relationship had ended so abruptly, you hadn’t felt up to pretending everything was fine. Every time you thought you were moving on, your heart would twist with the memories you hadn’t asked for, memories you wanted to bury.

But tonight, after months of isolation and late-night cramming sessions, your friends had finally convinced you to come out. They’d said it would be good for you, that you needed to let loose, have fun again. Reluctantly, you agreed. It was supposed to be a distraction, a chance to reset.

Yet, as soon as you walked into the party, your chest tightened. You couldn’t shake the fear that Paige would be there.

“Hey, glad you made it!” Ice’s voice broke through the pounding music as she bounded over, throwing an arm around your shoulders like you all were old friends, as if you hadn’t been ghosting the entire team’s texts for weeks.

“Yeah, I figured it was about time to stop being a hermit,” you replied, forcing a smile and ignoring the twist in your stomach. Your eyes automatically scanned the room, searching for the one person you both desperately wanted to avoid and couldn’t stop thinking about.

Paige wasn’t immediately visible, but you knew it was only a matter of time before she’d show up. After all, it was her teammate’s party, and Paige Bueckers was never one to miss out on socializing.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Ice said, leaning in to be heard over the music. “We haven’t seen you around much lately. You good?”

“Yeah, just been busy,” you lied. You weren’t going to get into the real reason you���d been keeping your distance. Ice was sweet, but she didn’t need to know about the messy, complicated, and completely unresolved situation with Paige.

“You want a drink? They’ve got some spiked punch in the kitchen,” she offered, pulling you towards the cluster of people gathered around the makeshift bar.

“Sure, why not.”

As you pushed through the crowd, you felt her pulse quicken. It was stupid to feel this way. You weren’t some lovesick teenager, but there was something about Paige that had always gotten under your skin. Even now, months after you’d stopped…whatever it was you two had, Paige still managed to occupy too much of your mental real estate.

It had started as something simple, just physical. A few late-night meetups, no strings, no promises. You weren’t naive—you’d known Paige wasn’t looking for anything serious. She was Paige Bueckers, for crying out loud, a college basketball star with the world at her feet. Of course she wasn’t going to settle down. But you had let yourself hope, just for a minute, that maybe Paige would want more.

She hadn’t.

Instead, Paige had pulled away, putting distance between you all when things started to feel too real. You had tried to play it off like it didn’t matter, like you hadn’t caught feelings somewhere along the line. But it had hurt—more than you’d care to admit. So you cut ties. Cold turkey. No texts, no late-night visits. You’d walked away before Paige could break your heart any more than she already had.

And now here you were, back in the lion’s den, willingly subjecting yourself to the torture of seeing Paige again.

“Yo, Bueckers!” someone called from the other side of the room.

Your breath caught in your throat as you glanced over your shoulder, and sure enough, there she was. Paige stood in the doorway, surrounded by a group of laughing friends. She looked good—too good. Casual as always, with that easy confidence that made her impossible to ignore. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, a few strands falling across her face in that perfectly messy way that only seemed to enhance her natural beauty.

Your heart did a familiar, unwanted flip in your chest, but you quickly masked it with a smirk. Ice, oblivious to the tension that had suddenly thickened in the air, waved her over.

“Paige! Get your ass over here!”

Paige’s gaze flicked in your direction, her eyes landing on you with a momentary pause before she plastered on a neutral expression. It was subtle, but you saw it—the flash of recognition, the quick flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. Your eyes locked for a split second, and it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

Paige hesitated for just a beat too long before making her way over, her usual swagger noticeably stiffer. You braced yourself, gripping the red plastic cup in your hand a little too tightly as Paige came to a stop in front of you.

“Ice,” Paige greeted, giving her a quick hug before turning to you with a nod. “You.”

You. Not even your name. Just a cold, impersonal greeting. Your jaw clenched, but you forced a casual shrug.

“Bueckers.”

The tension was immediate and thick enough to cut with a knife, but Ice didn’t seem to notice. She was already babbling on about something funny that had happened in practice earlier that day, completely oblivious to the silent war waging between the two women standing beside her.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance at Paige. She looked tired. The usual spark in her eyes was dimmed, and there was a tightness around her mouth that you hadn’t seen before. But then again, maybe that was just wishful thinking on your part—hoping that Paige was as messed up about all this as you were.

“I need a drink,” Paige muttered, interrupting Ice’s story and brushing past you on her way to the kitchen. The slight contact—Paige’s arm brushing against yours—sent a jolt of electricity through your body, unwelcome and entirely too familiar.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. You were not going to let Paige Bueckers get to you tonight. No way.

“So, how’ve you been?” Ice asked, pulling your attention back to the present. “You still working with that startup?”

“Yeah, it’s been pretty crazy, but I like it. Keeps me busy.” Busy enough to not think about Paige every damn second of the day.

“That’s awesome! You’ve got to tell me more about it sometime,” Ice said before spotting another teammate across the room. “Hey, I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere!”

You nodded absentmindedly as Ice rushed off, leaving you alone in the throng of partygoers. For a brief moment, you considered slipping out, making your excuses and disappearing before you had to deal with more of this awkwardness. But no. You weren’t going to let Paige dictate your actions anymore. You had every right to be here.

Deciding to hell with it, you made your way toward the kitchen, needing a refill yourself. The crowd was thick, but you wove through it with practiced ease, trying to ignore the increasing tightness in your chest. When you rounded the corner into the kitchen, you froze.

Paige was there, leaning against the counter, a red cup in her hand. Alone.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the party faded into the background as you stared at each other, the weight of everything left unsaid hanging between you.

“You’re here,” Paige finally said, her voice low, almost accusatory.

“Clearly,” you replied, your tone sharper than you intended.

Paige set her cup down on the counter with a clatter, running a hand through her hair. “Why?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Because Ice invited me. I didn’t know I needed your permission to be at a party.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t reply right away. Instead, she looked down at her hands, seemingly searching for the right words. After a long pause, she spoke again, softer this time.

“That’s not what I meant.”

You crossed her arms, your defenses going up. You couldn’t afford to let Paige see how much this still hurt. “What do you mean, then?”

Paige looked up, meeting your gaze, and for a moment, the mask slipped. There was something raw in her eyes, something that looked a lot like regret. But just as quickly, she blinked, and it was gone.

“I don’t know,” Paige muttered, shaking her head. “Forget it.”

“Already forgotten,” you shot back, turning to leave. You weren’t doing this. Not tonight.

But just as you were about to walk away, Paige’s hand shot out, gently grabbing your arm. The touch was light, but it stopped you in your tracks. You glanced down at where Paige’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, your pulse quickening despite yourself.

“Wait,” Paige said, her voice barely audible over the music.

You swallowed hard, your instinct to run warring with the part of you that wanted to stay. You didn’t want to hear whatever Paige had to say—because what could she possibly say to make any of this better? But at the same time, you needed to hear it. Needed some kind of closure, even if it wouldn’t be the kind you wanted.

Slowly, you turned back to face Paige, your heart pounding in your chest.

“What do you want, Paige?” you asked, your voice steady but cold.

Paige dropped her hand and took a step back, looking like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. After a long, excruciating silence, she finally spoke.

“I—” Paige’s voice faltered, and she looked away, her expression unreadable. “I don’t know.”

It was a pathetic answer, and you felt a familiar wave of frustration rise in your chest. Same old Paige, always deflecting, always hiding. You shook your head, exhaling a bitter laugh.

“You never do, do you?”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned and walked away, leaving Paige standing there in the kitchen, your unanswered question hanging in the air like smoke.

As you pushed your way back through the crowd, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something you couldn’t quite name—regret, maybe, or sadness. Whatever it was, it hurt like hell.

But it didn’t matter. You weren’t going to let Paige hurt you anymore. Not again.

And as much as Paige might try to avoid it, she was going to have to face the consequences of pushing you away. Because you were done playing nice.

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤

a/n: not too happy with how the beginning turned out, but the second half of this has to be one of my favorite things i’ve ever written

summary: natasha romanoff x female!reader. based on the movie “the notebook”; you’re allie, nat’s noah

warnings: none :)

word count: 8.8k

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

The consequences of your actions couldn't have been sweeter.

Your parents don't end up approving of Natasha, but maybe that's okay. Even two years later, they refuse to talk to her. You don't talk to them, either.

You don't tell them the big news.

They don't get an invite.

They also don't see you in your wedding dress.

Your father doesn't walk you down the aisle. Instead, Peter takes over that job for him.

It took Natasha three months to figure out what to wear. To you, it never mattered — she would've look gorgeous in anything. But, when you see her waiting for you in her white suit, you're very happy about her choice.

It's a small wedding, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Just the closest friends, and a few distant relatives who were kind enough to show up — not many of those, obviously. But you'd always suspected your aunt Vivian would support your little act of rebellion.

She sits in the second row, beaming just like Peter. When she hugs you after the ceremony, she whispers: "Your mom will come around eventually. If she doesn't, then she's missing out."

You're not sure about the first part, but the second? That, you know is true.

Natasha doesn't let go of your hand the entire night. During the vows, the toast, your first dance as wives. Her eyes are on you, as well. You're not doing anything extraordinary, other than wear a wedding dress, but she's looking at you like you hung the moon.

Your honeymoon is just as special. After a few weeks in Italy, you make your way back to where you're happiest. Back to the place that keeps pulling you in like a magnet, back to your world of coffees and canoes and mornings in the lake.

You'll always return to this house, that much is clear. You remember what Natasha said when she first brought you here — for someday. Away from everything. Away with someone.

That someone somehow turned out to be you. As you watch her reach for the key and unlock the door, you couldn't be more thankful for that fact.

"We need a bed", you mumble. You still haven't upgraded from the mattress you've been using for years now.

She glances at you, the soft sunlight catching her hair. "I like the mattress. Very grounding."

"Haha." You smirk and grab her hand, letting her lead you inside. The smell of pine and dust is comforting. It feels like a home, even more so than the apartment you bought in New York City together.

The floorboards creak underfoot. You look around, taking the familiar space in. It's old and worn, the kind of place that wraps around you like a warm blanket. Natasha drops your bags by the floor, then stretches her arms above her head with a satisfied sound.

The surface of the lake outside shimmers. You step out onto the porch and grab the broom to remove all the old leaves and dirt that have accumulated during your absence. Inside the kitchen, Natasha starts cleaning the kitchen so she can get started on dinner.

"Feels good to be back", you call, wiping the chairs and table down with a rag.

"Feels like we never left", she replies, her voice distant from the kitchen. You hum to yourself and wring the rag through your hands. Natasha's right — it really does feel like slipping into a life that was already waiting for you. But getting here wasn't easy at all.

You straighten up and make your way to the small garden just in front of the porch. Potted plants are lined up on one side of the stairs, so you crouch down and check on them. It rains often enough out here, but they look a little dry — understandably so, since it's July — so you grab a watering can.

Being back here brings back memories. You still remember that day, that conversation with Simon that started with a simple "I think we need to talk."

The heavy silence that followed, his breathing quiet and suddenly uneven. His question whether there's someone else. Your admittance that, yes, there always had been.

Your carefully composed world crumbled within hours.

It's a blur now. Your parents' fury, their desperate attempts to reel you back in, your mother's sharp warnings that you'd regret this. Beneath her mask of composure was an insecurity, stemming from being defied by her own child for the first time in her life.

You were told you'd regret this. But you got on the jet with Natasha, your hand in hers, and you didn't regret a thing.

Two years later, you're still waiting for said regret to set in. You don't see it happening, though. Not now, not ever.

A clatter from the kitchen pulls you back into the present. You pull out a few weeds and toss them into the compost, then you make your way back inside. Natasha's boiling water for the pasta now, so you wash your hands and grab a few cans of tomatoes. Right as you put them into a pot, you feel the familiar weight of her arms around your waist. Her lips meet your neck, soft and unhurried.

"Quiet here", she murmurs, pressing another kiss to your jaw. You turn your head and she kisses your nose.

"It's always been like that."

"I like it." She pauses, her hands running up and down your sides. "It feels a little empty, though."

You open your eyes and look at her, eyebrows raised. Natasha smiles faintly. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It is empty", she mumbles, her nose nuzzling your cheek. "We should find a way to change that."

"Fill the house with pasta?"

"Maybe." Her hand slides to your stomach and slips under your shirt. Her palm is warm, but the wedding band feels cold against your skin. "Maybe not."

Whatever that's supposed to mean — you already know you'll need more room.

. . .

The drive from the airport feels longer this time. The once familiar road seems new, the trees look bigger. Inside the car it's quiet, save for the soft breathing coming from the backseat that has replaced the sound of the radio.

A turn, then another. Finally, you pull up in front of the space that, no matter what, is always one you can retreat to.

Natasha moves her hand from your thigh to undo her seatbelt, then she slides out of the car. She opens the door and gently scoops the little bundle out of her car seat. To your surprise, Masha stays asleep, even as Natasha adjusts her position in the crook of her arm. Her red wisps of hair stick out in all directions.

"She's getting heavy", Natasha mumbles, following you to the house.

"Well, she's not a tiny little newborn anymore. She's growing."

Your wife frowns at your words, despite knowing they're true. Maggie started crawling last week — she's anything but a newborn at this point.

"Still a baby", she mutters, glancing at your daughter. Her pacifier moves a bit as she sucks on it.

"Yes, still a baby." You drop your suitcases next to the bed — or rather, mattress. "Dammit, Nat. We really need to get a bed."

"Why?" Natasha bends down to place the baby on the middle of the mattress, lightly rubbing her tummy when she squirms in her sleep. "This is safer. For her."

You huff and kick off your shoes. "So what, we're just never upgrading? We'll just sleep on this thing forever?"

"You didn't mind back then", she mumbles, sitting down next to Masha. Her fingers brush over the baby's tiny sock-covered feet. "Besides, she can't roll off if there's nothing to roll off of."

"Can't argue with that." You join them right as Masha stirs again. Her eyes blink open, her pacifier falling out as she yawns and stretches. You smile and brush some hair out of her face. "Hey, honey."

Masha blinks up at you, fists clenching and unclenching, still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Natasha scoops her up and holds her against her chest.

"Yeah, that was a nice nap", she says, kissing the baby's cheek. "You're all warm, Masha."

"Looks like someone is ready for a swim", you comment, already getting up to grab your swimsuits. Natasha looks at you and you pause. "What?"

"I think we should wait with that."

"What, why?" You pout and open the duffel bag anyway. Inside, you store your swimsuits and towels. "It's sweltering."

"I don't know how clean the lake is", she argues. Masha coos and Natasha gives her a quick smile. "She's too young."

"Oh, please." You slip your shirt off and momentarily leave Natasha speechless. But then she remembers that you aren't exactly alone, and that you also probably wouldn't take kindly to being ogled in front of your daughter, so she averts her eyes. "We went skinny dipping, like, dozens of times."

"Yes, but we're not 9 months old", she says, focusing on Masha again.

"You're sure?" You smirk as you catch the way her ears turn pink. "You get just as fussy when you're tired."

"I do not", she scoffs. But Masha, letting out a sleepy whimper and rubbing her face against Natasha's shoulder, proves your point. You raise an eyebrow.

"See? Identical."

"Oh, enough." She gets up, balancing the baby in her arms. "You're serious about swimming?"

"Very much so." You manage to close the clasp of the bikini top you're wearing and put your hair up into a bun. "Come on, we'll be quick."

Natasha narrows her eyes but doesn't argue, instead rocking Masha and rubbing her back. "We can take her down to the dock, let her dip her feet in. But that's it."

The sun is beaming down at you, but the trees surrounding the lake provide some shade. Natasha watches you as you jump into the water, then she sits on the dock. She keeps Masha cradled to her chest protectively, so you tread back to the dock and raise your eyebrows.

Your wife shoots you the most unimpressed look known to man.

"You promised", you remind her, splashing some water on her legs. The baby giggles, her arms flailing.

"What if I drop her?"

"You won't." You reach out and touch Masha's bare foot. "Just a quick dip."

She hesitates for another moment, but then sighs and adjusts her hold on the baby. Slowly, she lowers her from the dock until her toes touch the water. Masha's eyes widen, her entire body going stiff — but then she lets out a surprised little squeal.

"Oh", Natasha mumbles, watching the baby's mouth form an o-shape. She starts kicking her feet and gurgling in delight. "She likes it."

"Of course." You smile and lean back in the water. "I knew she would."

"Yeah, yeah." She scoops the baby back up and kisses her cheek, expertly ignoring her wails of protest. "That's enough for now."

"Oh, come on. What are you scared of?" You reach out and gently grab Masha's foot. "That the fishes are going to nibble at her little toes?"

"Hilarious."

The baby reaches out toward the water again, her hands grasping at the air. Her feet keep kicking, but Natasha doesn't budge. She's read too many horror stories about recreational water illnesses. Sure, Maggie is over the recommended 6 months old now, but your wife likes to be safe.

"It's time for lunch, anyway", Natasha adds, using the hem of her shirt to dry Masha's feet. "I bet she's hungry."

"Probably", you agree half heartedly. You sigh and get out onto the dock again, water dripping from your body. Natasha stands up as well and wraps one arm around your waist. She pulls you closer and gives you a kiss.

"We'll go swimming later", she mumbles, her hand drifting to your front. Her fingertips gently skim over the stretch marks there. "When the little fishie is asleep."

It's not the breeze that makes you shiver. You lean into the touch and press your lips against the corner of her mouth. "You better keep that promise."

"I always do", she teases. She grabs your hand and raises her eyebrows, a playful smile on her face as she starts leading you back to the house. "Come on. Milk for the fishie, and steak for us."

Later that night, when Masha's asleep, you take her outside in her stroller and leave it close enough so you're able to see and hear her. Then you pull Natasha to the dock, kissing and tugging each other's clothes off, giggling like teenagers whenever you need to part for a moment.

Your shirt ends up god knows where — in a bush, maybe, or in the old canoe. You don't really pay it any attention. You're far too focused on getting into the water again.

The lake is still warm enough from the sun that'd been shining all day, but now that it's windy and dark out, it almost feels cold against your skin. You gasp at the feeling, and Natasha quickly wraps her arms around your waist.

"It's freezing", she whispers sweetly, trailing kisses along your jaw. "I bet it'll take you less than twenty minutes to want to go back inside."

"A bet, huh?" You smile, but a shiver runs through you and the accompanying clattering of your teeth interrupts you. "If I win, you're on diaper duty for the rest of the week."

"Deal." She kisses your lips, her own plush and warm. "If I win, you're singing me a lullaby every night. The entire week."

"Oh god." You grimace, but Natasha kisses it off your face. Her hands run to your back and she tugs at the clasp of your bra. You quickly squirm away from her wandering hands. "Hey! Behave."

"No fun in that", she replies, her hands splaying out on your back. Then, without a hint of a warning, she pulls you under the water with her.

You gasp and close your eyes on instinct, your arms clinging to her. The water soaks into your hair and fully envelops you from head to toe, and when you surface again, laughter bubbles between you. It's a silent night, save for the sound of your giggles and the distant hum of cicadas.

You lift your hands to wipe the water off Natasha's face and she pauses. Her fingers tuck a wet strand of hair behind your ear as she studies you with that look you by now know intimately.

The lake around you ripples, but neither of you move. Then you hear Masha fuss in her stroller, and you both smile knowingly.

You lean in and press your wet lips to hers, the lake water as sweet as the day you first tasted it on her tongue.

. . .

"No!"

Your voice cuts through the silent summer air, loud and sharp in a way your kids aren't used to. Archer looks up, his eyes wide and his arms stretched out to the sides.

"Don't even think about it", you say, quickly walking down to the dock. Masha grins up at you from the water and waves innocently. You grab your son's shoulder and point a finger at your daughter. "You too. You're right in front of the dock, it's dangerous."

"I'm not that close", she protests, and Archer nods enthusiastically.

"I'm careful, mama."

"I wouldn't listen to them", Natasha calls. You turn to see her on the porch, carrying Lilia in her arms. She's wrapped up in a towel, her face sticky with strawberry ice cream. "Remember the tree incident last year?"

"How could I forget?", you grumble. "I can still hear your cries, Archie."

He pouts, his shoulders slumping. "That was different."

"You fell into a bush", your wife says, walking up to the dock. "Headfirst."

"You were stuck for, like, five minutes", Maggie adds, a grin on her face. She swims backwards to give Archer more space. "It was so funny."

"It was not funny. Your brother could've gotten hurt."

"Listen to your mother, bud", Natasha says. She adjusts Lilia on her hip and brushes her hand over his damp curls. "We don't need an emergency room visit this summer."

He groans and drags his foot over the wooden dock. For a moment, you think he's accepted defeat — but then he suddenly sprints forward and leaps into the air, yelling a triumphant "ha!" Water splashes everywhere, even managing to get into your eyes.

"Archer Romanoff!", you scold as you wipe your face. Your voice gets lost between Masha's and Lilia's laughter. "Alright, that's it. Do I really need to take away your ice cream-privileges?"

He surfaces again, water dripping down his face. "No fair! Lilia ate all my ice cream!"

"Kid's got a point", your wife mumbles, glancing at your youngest. She just looks up at her with wide, innocent eyes, her cheeks covered in the ice cream she's eating. "Great, it dripped on the towel."

"We'll wash it. What we can't fix as easily, however, is a broken skull. So no more jumping when someone else is that close to the dock!"

"Fine", Archer relents. He splashes some water at his older sister, who grimaces and slaps the back of his head. "Ow!"

"No fighting", you remind them and glance at Natasha. Your wife is busy cooing at Lilia, who's having the time of her life being coddled. "Seriously? Why do I always have to be the bad cop here?"

"Because you're good at it." Natasha kisses Lilia's nose and smiles, moving the child onto her shoulders. "Besides, they're just playing."

"He splashed water at her."

"And she retaliated", she argues. "No harm done."

You sigh and glance at the kids again, who seem more peaceful now. Or, as peaceful as a five- and ten-year-old can be. Archer's spinning in circles, while Masha has plopped into the inflatable donut you brought.

"Want ice cream", Lilia suddenly declares.

You want to argue, but then press your lips into a thin line and give Natasha a pointed look — your turn. First she hesitates, but then lets out a sigh and slowly shakes her head.

"No more today, bub. Too much sugar."

"But it's summer!", Masha protests. Ankles crossed and arms behind her head, she looks like the human form of relaxation. "Also, I only had two today."

"Two's enough", you say before you can stop yourself. "We're having dinner in about an hour, anyway. Any special requests?"

"Can we have pizza?", Archer requests.

"You sure can", Natasha says, "but you're making it yourself."

"What? On my own?" He gapes at her.

"Exactly", she confirms. "Come on. I'll even help you with the dough."

The kids scramble out of the water and start running toward the house. Lilia, clearly wanting to join in on the fun, squirms until Natasha puts her on the ground. She runs after them as fast as her short legs allow her to.

For a moment, it's just you and Natasha again. Hands intertwined, the setting sun warm on your skin, the familiar little house in front of you full of life now.

. . .

Sometimes, life isn't fair.

You can talk about karma all you want, believe in fate, hope for justice. Trust that, somewhere out there, there's a referee who'll make sure everyone gets what's fair to them.

Oftentimes, that's not the case. You can close your eyes and pretend the truth doesn't exist, but it will hit you straight in the face anyway.

You're distracted when you get into the car. A sleepless night due to your son who started yelling at his computer at 3am, eight hours of work in an overfilled office, a fight with your wife that you caused — now you're exhausted, irritated, and understandably so.

You step out of the building and toss your purse into the passenger seat before getting in the car. You check your hair in the rear view mirror, quickly spotting the dark circles under your eyes and the wrinkles forming around them.

Whether you believe it or not: you're getting old.

With a sigh, you fire up the engine and roll out onto the road. From that moment on, it's like you're moving through a fog.

The world is distant, your thoughts jumbled. You turn corners, the streets blurring in front of your eyes. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel restlessly. All you want is to go home — little do you know that you wouldn't be able to do that for a while.

You're not thinking about the road.

In hindsight, you'd like to say that all it took were a few seconds of carelessness. But no. It was more, way more. That one specific second, however, where your focus wavers entirely, is what changes everything.

A sudden swerve from the car in front of you. You hit the brakes too late. Then, your world shifts into chaos.

The screech of tires. Your body thrown against the seatbelt. A flash of metal. The sickening crunch of impact. Blood on your tongue, a ringing noise in your ears. Your own heartbeat, and the deafening silence that follows.

. . .

The harsh light is what you notice first. Bright, blinding you, making your head pound even as you squint. You try to lift your hand to block it out, but your limbs feel too heavy.

Then the smell. Sterile, clinical, unfamiliar. A soft beeping sound in the distance, rhythmic and insistent.

You blink rapidly, trying to shake the fog from your mind, but nothing clears. You try to swallow, but your throat is as dry as sandpaper. It feels like you haven't used your voice in days. Instead, you attempt to sit up, but your body protests with a dull ache. You somehow manage to turn your head.

Next to you, a silhouette jumps up from a chair. Her face is familiar and unfamiliar at once, but she looks worried — so worried.

"Hey, hey", she says, first reaching out but then pulling back her hand. "You're okay."

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out at first. In that moment, you don't know much — but you do know that speaking shouldn't be this difficult.

"...Where?", you eventually manage to get out.

"Hospital. You were in a car crash."

You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, trying to remember, remember anything, connect some dots, fill the overwhelmingly large gaps.

You draw a blank.

"Who are you?", you ask, voice weak. The woman stiffens, then slowly moves to sit down next to you on the bed. Grey hoodie, dark circles under her eyes, unwashed hair. Clearly exhausted, probably hasn't slept properly in a while.

You search her face, and even if your heart beats faster at the sight — you don't recognize her. Not like you should.

"Natasha", she mumbles. "Your wife."

You nod again. "I...I don't...remember."

The words hang in the air between you. Natasha — your wife — hesitates before touching the back of your hand. Her touch is warm, comforting. Your brain may not recognize it, but your heart does.

"We have kids", she begins, quietly. "Masha. She's 17 now. Won a soccer tournament last month. Archer, he...he games a little too much. But he's a good kid. And Lilia is so smart. She's like you, you know."

You don't react. You try to assign faces to the names, but you can't. All you can imagine are three kids, faceless, practically strangers.

A mother, you wonder. I'm a mother.

You give her another pleading, disconcerted look. Everything about this is weighing heavily on your dazed mind. Why can't you remember who you are? Why can't you recognize the woman you supposedly married?

Natasha's fingertips trace the back of your hand as she starts to explain. A car crash, where the driver in front of you lost control of their vehicle. A traumatic brain injury. Retrograde and anterograde amnesia. Gaps in your memory, which are temporary (according to the doctors), but unsettlingly large.

"I know it's confusing", Natasha continues, her voice breaking. "But it's okay. It's normal. I mean, you were in a car crash. You need to recover, and you're getting better already."

"I don't feel better", you mumble. Someone knocks on the door and you look up. "What...?"

"The kids", she says, already on her way. "I asked Peter to watch them."

"Peter."

It's a statement, but it sounds like a question. Funny enough, you do remember that name. Your brain manages to flash you a picture of a teenager in an oversized shirt and Hello Kitty sweatpants, but then it's gone. You wonder whether it's a memory.

"I'll explain later", she says softly. She turns, her hand on the doorknob and her expression tentative. "Do you want to see them?"

Do you want to see them? No. Not in this state. Not knowing that you forgot your own children. The kids you carried, birthed, loved.

But you need to see them. Because you did carry, birth, love them. Because you owe it to them, in a way.

"Yeah", you murmur. Natasha nods and opens the door. One after the other, three kids enter the room. The oldest girl looks a lot like you, but her hair is entirely Natasha's. Then a boy — a middle schooler — with unruly hair and an expression torn between deep worry and mild boredom. The last one is a girl, only ten years old, who clings to Natasha's side.

They all stand there, staring at you, and you look at the woman who's supposed to be your wife. A silent call for help.

She quickly turns and nods at the kids. "Go on, say hi."

They hesitate, but then Masha steps forward. Being the oldest, she understands this situation the most — but even for her, processing this is difficult.

You can't blame her. You're an adult, and you can't quite process it either.

"Hey, mom", she mumbles. "You feeling okay?"

"I'm fine", you say, blinking a few times. You reach out and touch her hand, and while your brain may not recognize the girl in front of you, your body still does. "I'm sorry, I..."

"You really don't remember?", the little girl — Lilia, you remind yourself — asks. She's still half-hidden behind Natasha, who looks like she wants to jump in and shield you from all of this. But she can't. This is your moment, your choice.

You don't say anything for a long moment. You could either lie ("Of course I remember you, don't be silly sweetheart") but you know that Masha and Archer are both old enough to see through that. You shake your head.

"I'm sorry", you say, then add: "honey."

"It's okay", Natasha says again, almost as if trying to convince herself by repeating those two words over and over again. "Mom just needs some rest, yeah?"

"Sure", Archer mumbles. He gives you one last cautious look, then shuffles out of the room with his hands buried in the pockets of his cargos. Outside the room, a man — dark hair, friendly face that's lost its usual happiness — ushers them back into the waiting room. He glances at you and smiles weakly before turning and leaving.

Natasha closes the door and sits down next to you again. She pulls out a ring and places it in your palm. It's identical to the one she's wearing.

"You don't have to put it on", she says right as you're slipping it onto your finger. She swallows at the sight, her facade cracking. "Oh."

"Look", you murmur, cheeks red with a shame that's completely out of place in this situation, "I don't remember much about you. Or the kids. And I'm sorry for that. But you said you're my wife, and if you are, I'm probably really lucky because my heart keeps doing this weird thing when I look at you."

Natasha nods and exhales shakily. Her fingers touch yours, brushing against the wedding ring, and you stay completely still. You turn your hand so it's palm up and gently grab her hand.

"I am your wife", she says, voice breaking as she holds back tears. "You have no idea how lucky I am."

You close your eyes and squeeze her fingers. "For now, I'd like to be able to know who I am first."

She laughs and nods, tears making her vision blurry. "We'll get there."

. . .

The memories creep back in an agonizingly slow fashion.

Being back home does help, even if you struggle to associate anything major to the house you're in. Natasha told you that you bought this house right after you got pregnant with Archer, but you don't remember that. But, when you step through the front door for the first time after the accident, your brain provides you with the feeling of carrying your newborn over the same threshold years ago.

It's just a fragment of the memory, but it lays the groundwork for everything to come.

Recovery is frustrating and confusing and painful. You're physically stable, but mentally, you're in a fog.

Doing mundane, everyday tasks isn't an issue anymore. You make coffee in the mornings (even if your hands sometimes still feel like they don't belong to you; you've shattered more cups within a week than you have in your entire life), you shower, you even do Lilia's hair and make sure she gets into the school bus.

What else do you remember? Truthfully, not much. It's mostly fragments at this point, emotional recognition and muscle memory. One evening, when you're on the couch, you remember your first day of school. But looking at Natasha, not much comes to mind. All you know is that she's safe.

With the kids, it's similar. You don't remember anything, basically, but you can feel they're yours and you can feel you love them.

Masha is the most mature, being 17 years old already. She hides her pain well and, instead of wallowing, tries to bond with you — she knows how to make you feel included. She tells you about what happened at school, plays songs she claims are your favorites (sometimes, you do recognize the melodies), watches tv with you.

Archer is distant. He spends most of his time either playing video games or doing homework. His interactions with you are limited, but you'll catch him looking at you when he thinks you aren't paying attention. He's waiting for you to be his mom again, to be that woman who ruffles his hair and makes him eat his vegetables, who plays Mario Kart and goes to the LEGO store with him.

Lilia is too young to fully understand, too small, too hopeful. She curls up beside you without hesitation and hands you books you very well know she could read on her own. You still flip them open and read the stories to her, quietly hoping that it'll help. Sometimes, it does, and you suddenly see a much smaller version of her in that same spot next to you.

One day, you catch Natasha in her office. She's been spending more and more time in there, mostly when you're busy around the house. When you walk in, she closes the notebook on her desk and turns to look at you. Her eyes soften and she smiles and, oh, you forget about the weight in your chest. You feel the love between you, decades old and steadier than anything, and in that moment, it's enough.

You smile back and pause in the doorway. You still feel like you don't belong into this house, like you're an intruder. You know that's not the case, but your mind is as much of a traitor as it is a stranger.

"What are you doing?", you ask, head leaning against the doorframe.

"Writing", she replies and turns around in her desk chair. "You okay?"

There's that question again. You force another smile.

"I'm okay."

"Hungry?"

You should be. It's almost dinner time. You shake your head — you're rarely hungry these days.

"No."

Natasha nods, then gestures at you to come closer. You hesitate before approaching her.

Her eyes study you in a way that makes your skin tingle. The silence in the room is only adding to this strange, but not unwelcome, feeling. You avert your eyes before everything can become too much.

When Natasha speaks up again, she sounds choked up. "Come here."

You look at her.

"Please", she adds, almost pleading.

Another step. You sit down on her lap and glance at her. Her arms wrap around you, safe and solid. Something flashes in your mind, something warm and familiar, and you freeze to make it last.

"You know what this feels like?", you mumble when you're certain the feeling won't slip from your grasp again.

Natasha raises her eyebrows. Her hand gently runs up and down your back. "What?"

You rest your head against her shoulder. You know her scent, that much you're sure of. "A house."

"Mhm?"

"With a lake", you continue, struggling to explain. "I remember a mattress.”

She closes her eyes and turns her head, her nose nuzzling your hair. Tears aren't something to be ashamed of, but she won't let you catch her crying again. All of this hasn't been easy for her, either.

"Anything else, love?"

"A mattress on the floor", you mumble. "God, my back hurt."

"Yeah." She laughs, but it's a broken sound, muffled by your hair. "Mine did, too."

"Why'd we sleep on the floor?", you ask, still confused.

"Don't ask me", she murmurs and kisses the top of your head. It's an absentminded gesture, but her heart feels lighter when you lean into the touch. "We just forgot to buy a bed, I guess. We got used to the mattress."

"I think I liked it."

"You did?" Natasha smiles, her lips pressing against your cheek. "So did I."

. . .

A few weeks pass. The fog starts to lift, the haze thins. Things become easier, memories clearer.

Masha, still pink and squishy, wrapped into a towel. Nurses and bright lights. Salty tears on your cheeks, Natasha's hand on your head.

A canoe, old and shabby but staying afloat. Summer air on sunburnt skin. Aloe gel on shoulders and a wooden dock beneath your feet. Sweet kisses, slow and unhurried.

Seeing yourself in a wedding dress for the first time. Trying it on three kids later, with a body that's changed. Natasha standing behind you, closing the zipper. Fabric that feels much more snug. Her lips brush against your shoulder.

"You got even more beautiful. Must be magic at play here."

An elementary school. You can't tell whether it's yours or one of your kids's, but the fading chalk drawings are pastel and the air is musky after it rained.

A drive-in. A diner. A jet, with an odd symbol everywhere. Emergency room visits and first words, lullabies and a tattoo shop, stars and wilted flowers. Natasha and you in a dark hallway, Natasha and you bathing Archer for the first time.

Memories that come back gradually only to disappear again. They're not permanently gone — but sometimes, keeping them alive is hard. It hurts to look at your daughter's face and briefly forget her name, it hurts that you can't make pancakes the way you used to, it hurts you don't know your son's favorite movie or the name of the football club your daughter plays in.

Your photo album, some pictures faded, some corners creased from years of handling, helps. You sit on the couch, legs crossed and fingers tracing the images in front of you.

A picture of Natasha, her arms wrapped around a younger version of yourself. Trees in the background, and a blanket with a baby sleeping on it — Lilia, maybe half a year old. You squint, trying to remember that day.

A tap against the doorframe makes you look up. Masha stands there, arms folded, watching you.

"Hey", she says. "You okay?"

"I'm alright", you quickly say, blinking the sudden moisture away from your eyes. "What about you, honey?"

"Fine. Finished one of the books on my summer reading list." She moves to sit down next to you and peeks at the pictures. She taps the one you were looking at. "That's a good one", she says, smiling.

"I don't remember much", you admit.

"Yeah? Well, we decided to go on a picnic." Masha points at the trees. "A bird managed to crap on Lil's stroller."

"Language", you say without really having to think about it. Masha's smile widens. You can see something of Natasha's in her eyes.

"That was very you, mom", she says, nudging your shoulder with hers. "Come on, you gotta know what I'm talking about. Archer got chased by a dog. Mama had to grab that beast's collar. The owner threatened to sue her."

"Yeah", you say slowly. You glance at her and smile tentatively. "I think Archer climbed a fence."

Her eyes light up. "He did, yes. And mama dragged the dog back to its owner and absolutely bawled him out."

You nod, the weight on your shoulders having lessened. You remembered something else — not much, but it's a little step in the right direction anyway.

Masha flips to another page and points at a picture. "Here. Try."

You study the image carefully. It's another one of you and Natasha, but this time, you're on a dock. You can barely see your faces, since they're turned towards one another — her nose brushing against yours, your smile wide, tiny wrinkles around your squinting eyes. A lake stretching out behind you, with a kid's head poking out in the distance.

"Oh", you mumble. You hesitate, but the warmth in your chest tells you to keep going. "It was summer. There was this- this house...and a lake. We spent our summer there."

"We spend every summer there", your daughter reveals. "Except for the one where you had Lilia."

"Right", you mumble. "Was there a storm that night?"

"Yes!" She nods, her red ponytail bobbing up and down. "The power went out. And-"

"And the kids were scared, so we lit candles", Natasha finishes the thought from across the room. You turn around, spotting your wife in the doorway to the living room. In her hand, the notebook. She tilts her head and smiles, something thoughtful glistening in her eyes as she watches you chase your own memories. "We told ghost stories."

"Archer couldn't sleep", you whisper.

"He slept in our bed", Natasha confirms. "He stayed there the entire summer, even if he kicked me all the time."

"Yeah", you mumble, looking back at the picture. Suddenly, it's all so vivid in your mind. You can pierce together fragments until they form something akin to a full memory.

When you meet Natasha's eyes again, something in them has changed. She looks resolute as she steps up to the couch, the notebook still in her grasp.

"There's something I want to read to you", she says, sitting down next to you. Masha gives her a curious look.

"Oh, really?"

"You're going to bed", she tells your daughter. "This is something I want to discuss with my wife, not your mom."

Masha looks like she's about to protest, but then her shoulders slump in defeat. She understands what Natasha means. She gets up, kisses you both on the cheeks and then heads upstairs. Once her bedroom door has closed, Natasha opens the notebook.

"I wrote this", she says, briefly glancing at the pages. "It's pretty long, if I'm being honest."

"What is it?", you ask, doing your best not to peek.

"Uhm..." She hesitates. "Our story. Beginning to end. The entire thing."

You stare at her, baffled. Your wife is telling you that, somehow, she managed to squeeze 23 years of history into one single notebook. Highs and lows, tears and laughter, everything you went through together to get here.

Then, you tear up. You remember pieces of those more than two decades. Natasha remembers enough to write a book about them.

"Okay", you mumble, sinking into the couch. Natasha squeezes your knee, looking like she's close to tears herself. She clears her throat and open the first page, skimming it.

"'We met at a fun fair'", she begins. "'You wore a dress. I hope you won't be too mad about me saying this, but you had zero aim."

You smile and shake your head, your hands covering your face. She keeps going.

"'I tried to ask you out. You resisted, obviously. You were stubborn, and so was I. There was a risk to going out with a complete stranger, but I loved taking that risk.'"

"Ferris wheel", you whisper, voice muffled.

"Yeah." She nods. "'You left again, with your friend. I felt like the most unlucky idiot in the whole world. But then I saw you again, on the ferris wheel, and I decided that it was now or never. I got up-'"

"And climbed." You brush the tears away. "Could've fallen and broken your neck."

"I didn't", she argues softly. "I made it over to you."

"You smelled like sugar", you add. "Like...beer and sugar. It was so odd."

Natasha lets out a quiet laugh, but it's a pleasantly surprised one. She looks up from the pages, her eyes searching your face. "You never told me that."

"I didn't?" You glance at her, eyebrows furrowed. You can still smell her scent from that moment, how sugary and bitter it was at the same time. "Huh.”

"That's good", she says, encouraging you. Reading about your memories seems to coax more of them out of you. "Want me to keep going?"

"Yes", you immediately say.

And so she does.

Your first date, in a diner. The first kiss afterwards. Nights of sneaking out, staying with her.

The house by the lake. The mattress. The three years of separation in between, and your engagement to Simon.

Peter telling her about everything. Meeting again, kissing, sleeping with each other.

Breaking off the engagement. Leaving town, heading to New York. Staying with SHIELD for a while. The weeks that followed.

Memory after memory. Some feel like echoes, others like dreams. Some pop between your fingers like bubbles, others seep into your bones, like they've been waiting for you to find them again.

You don't remember all of it. You've blocked many things out completely — like the fact that Natasha had dinner with your family once —, which leaves you feeling unsettled.

Some of it seems too meaningful to forget. But then again, you couldn't remember Natasha was your wife when you first woke up after the accident. Now, you can at least recall saying 'yes' in front of the altar, and how you danced afterwards, and how your lipstick had stained the corner of her mouth.

Eventually, she closes the notebook. She's only gotten through less than twenty pages.

"There's more", she says, looking at you. "A lot more."

You nod, rubbing your face. "I feel like I won't be able to remember half of it."

"You don't have to remember it now", she says gently, her hand reaching out. You grab it and keep it in your lap, playing with her fingers like you used to.

Like you used to — there. Another memory.

"It's hard", you admit. "It's like I'm chasing ghosts. Like...like I can't catch them before they disappear."

Natasha hums, staring at the wall for a moment. Covered in family pictures, many of them taken in that one beloved place. The one place you've visited almost every summer, where you've gone through so much, experienced so much. A place you've returned to at various stages of your life. A place that, without any doubt, will always be there.

"You know what might help?", she says absentmindedly.

"What?"

Your wife looks at you and squeezes your hand. "Being there", she says, her smile tentative but knowing. "The house. The lake. The dock."

You swallow, looking past her at the pictures. At this point, you feel like your brain is teasing you. You can feel the thick summer heat, hear the sound of cicadas and the water lapping against the shore. But the memories actually associated to those distant sensations? You can't grasp them.

"It'll help?"

"It might."

You hesitate, but something inside you pulls towards the idea. To the familiarity of it, even if the familiarity feels foreign right now.

"It can't hurt", you admit. "I mean, it's summer anyway."

"The kids don't have school", Natasha adds. She leans in and kisses you way too briefly. You've grown more used to physical affection again, but she's still scared of making you uncomfortable. Her hands feel warm and solid on your sides. "I'll pack, we're leaving in the morning."

. . .

It's you who points at that one roadside diner you've been going to for the past ten years.

The looks you get from your family make you pause. Nobody speaks, they all just stare. Finally, Natasha squeezes your thigh.

"Bet I can guess your order."

"No way", you tease, simultaneously trying to remember your usual. Cheeseburger? Maybe fries? Definitely no pickles.

But Natasha, knowing you better than the back of her hand, rattles down your order without having to think about it. The word 'milkshake' triggers something, and you smile softly as you lean back and gaze at her.

"You'll share your whipped cream?", you ask.

"Wouldn't be a proper date if I didn't", she mumbles, grabbing your hand.

Normally, a flirty little comment like this would be enough to earn gagging noises from the kids in the backseat. But they know that everything is still fragile, so they stay quiet.

Arriving in front of the house makes you close your eyes. The sight is painful, but it sparks so many memories that it's almost overwhelming. The porch, the wooden steps, the trees surrounding the house.

"We're here", Archer says, turning off his Nintendo.

"Yeah", Masha mumbles, looking at the house with a thoughtful look on her face. "Still the same."

The kids unbuckle and get out of the car. They're all eager to return to this place, this house that feels more like home than anything else ever could.

You look at your wife and open your mouth, but for a moment, no sound escapes from your parted lips. Her face blurs, and so does her name. You exhale and squeeze your eyes shut again, your hands trembling.

"Natasha", you manage a few seconds later. You forgot her name. Even if only for a few seconds, you forgot her name. She swallows and nods. She noticed — of course she did. She's been hyper aware of everything surrounding you since you got into that accident. "Oh god, I..."

"Hey", she says, leaning over to pull you into a hug. You bury your face in her neck and fight the rising panic. "You're just nervous. It's okay, I promise."

"It's so foggy", you mumble, breathing her in. "I thought this was supposed to help."

"We're not even inside yet, love." She pulls back and kisses you on the cheek. Outside, you hear your children's voices as they run around the front yard. Masha stops on the stairs and turns to look at you, the breeze tousling her red hair. Worry fills her eyes when she realizes you're still in the car.

"What if I don't remember?", you ask, your eyes meeting Natasha's again. "What if the memories stay gone? What if..."

She brushes some hair out of your face and smiles softly. The sadness in her eyes is unmistakable, but so is the steady love there.

"Then we'll make new memories. Come on."

She leads you out of the car and wraps her arm around your shoulders. The kids chatter excitedly as she unlocks the door to the house and lets them all storm in. Again, it's a small space — two bedrooms, one of which you added when you got pregnant with Lilia, as the space had started to feel a little too snug.

It's cozy, lived-in...and even familiar. The feeling of stepping into this space never changed.

It feels like a memory — that was your first impression you ever had of this house. Turns out you still remember that.

Your eyes sweep across the room. The kitchen you renovated, the little living room, the windows that provide a view of the lake. The dock. Even the hammock is still intact, though the pattern of the fabric has faded over the years.

"Where's the canoe?", you mumble. Before Natasha can answer, you speak up again. "It fell apart, didn't it?"

"It rotted", she says, nodding. "It was fine the summer before."

"Shame."

"I agree."

"Mom?"

You turn and look at Masha, who's holding a mug in her hand. A chipped mug.

"Yes?", Natasha says, rubbing your arm.

"Can I make coffee? I'm kinda tired."

"One cup", you murmur, resting your weight against your wife's side. She leans in and kisses your temple. Then she walks you outside, to the dock and the lake. She shows you the letters you carved into one of the wooden boards, which are the initials of all your names. She makes you sit down and dip your feet in the water, causing a memory of Masha doing the same thing — only as an infant — to light up in your mind.

You watch Archer sit in the hammock and stare up at the sky. Lilia joins him, and they squabble over who gets to sit in it. A cat appears from the bushes that are on the other side of the lake, and they both get up to try and lure it with 'pspsps'-noises and a bag of pretzels.

You go back inside and make dinner. You recall the first fight you had, which makes Natasha laugh and pull you into a kiss. You curl up on the couch, with Lilia in your lap and your head on Natasha's chest, and watch the same black and white movie you watched in the drive-in way back.

"Still old", she mumbles into your ear. You smile and tilt your head up. Her lips press against your forehead.

Once the kids are in their pajamas, you all gather in the main bedroom. Archer drags his mattress into the room, so Masha and Lilia follow in suit, and now you're all cuddled up. Your oldest daughter brought your beloved mug along, this time filled with milk instead of coffee.

Your voices are soft, the words hushed. The kids have started chattering quietly — well, Lilia not really; she's out cold.

You look at Natasha again. Her eyes meet yours, and you recognize everything your brain can't remember.

Can't remember yet, you remind yourself. You've gotten this far, and you'll get further.

"I love you", you mumble. "I know that much."

"I love you too", she whispers, her lips pressing against yours in a brief kiss. You close your eyes and sink into this feeling. It's a feeling you may not always remember, but will always recognize. "You don't need to know me for me to love you."

Masha and Archer both cuddle up at Natasha's side. Your daughter reaches for your hand and you squeeze it. When Natasha starts humming the tune of a Russian lullaby she used to sing to the kids when they were still little, you close your eyes and quietly hum along. The melody returns easily, and the memory comes to life again, vibrant and warm.

A nursery, a swaddled baby, a nightlight in the shape of a sailboat. Drops of warm milk on wrists, feverishly reddened cheeks, the uncertainty that comes with being a new parent.

Outside, the water laps at the shore. The moon bathes the room in a milky light. No light pollution out here, thankfully.

The kids go quiet. Natasha pulls out the notebook and opens it, finding the page where you left off during the car ride. You glance at it, then lean up to kiss her cheek. Her voice is a quiet murmur when she begins telling the story of your first months of marriage. Not all of the memories return as readily, but that's okay. Listening to her retell them may be enough for now.

You turn your head and bury your face in her chest. Her heartbeat is a rhythm you'd recognize in a thousand lifetimes.

You thought it all started at the fun fair, where you met. But lying here, with the lake outside and the mattress on the floor, with the chipped mug in your sleepy daughter's hand, you realize that this is where it began.

The walls hold secrets that never touched the notebook. 

It all started in a small house by a lake, and it ends there as well.

[kwanisms]

Just Like That — h.joshua

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playlist: fever — enhypen; light a flame — seventeen; sexuality — taemin ➮ incubus!Joshua × f!reader wc: 16k summary: fantasizing about her handsome and sweet coworker has some unintended consequences for Y/N when an incubus shows up in her home after unintentionally summoning him with what she thought was just gibberish. genres/themes/au: angst, one sided pining, smut; religious themes, supernatural themes, demonic themes; non idol au, demon au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! permanent taglist: @yoonguurt @wonderfulshinee @candidupped @dejavernon @violagoth @tigermoonbiss @katsukis1wife @luvsooby @thesolarplanetarysystem @salty-for-suga @devilsmatches @dmnspiit @simeonswhore @yangracha @atinypurr @aikyubi @labyrinthonmymind @bintificreads @toxic-babexe @plutoneu @sunwoosbaby @lilramennoodle @deadgirlwalking3 seventeen taglist: @aikisbbq @drunk-on-dk @cixrosie @hoeforcheol @98-0603 @briannabk22 @vampiirose @plants-w0rld @dementedaly @generic-teez-127 @sweetlylemon unable to tag: @prestineaugstine @imwhoever @lunaryoongie join my taglists: main Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED.  AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED. 

a/n: this is just pure filth and I won't apologize lol I did this to torture the bestie. It was supposed to be a timestamps lol and it turned into 16k. Thank you for reading, reblogs and comments are always appreciated, and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

A huge thank you to @kpop-stories-21 & @anyamaris for sprinting with me back to back and essentially keeping me company while I worked on this 💕

Translation notes: Cur curritis is google translate latin for ‘why are you running?’ disclaimer: I do not know latin so this could be wildly inaccurate because it’s google translate. Likewise, Mortalem te interro- gavi is what I got for ‘i asked you a question, mortal.’ Again, I don’t know latin. I just used google translate. I’m not going for accuracy here lol. The incantation, Te invoco a profundus inferni is from Supernatural lol

smut warnings: unprotected sex (pls use protection), tentacles, dirty talk, praise, pet names (baby, doll, angel, slut, etc), marking (f receiving), spanking (f receiving) , spitting, choking (f receiving) , fingering (f receiving), slight somnophilia, rough sex, anal, double penetration, multiple orgasms (f receiving), creampie, breeding kink, big d!ck!Joshua being a menace to my sanity, dom!Shua, sub!Reader, and I think that's everything but of course, let me know if I missed something!

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Autumn was in the air. The mornings had become chilly, frosty dew covered grass crunching underfoot that gave way to cool days, the sun warming just enough but not burning. The scent of the holidays hung in the air as you noticed decor going up on your way to work in the mornings.

The only coffee shop in town had finally put up their fall menu and despite how much flack you got for it, you were excited that the pumpkin cakes and warm vanilla chai lattes with a sprinkle of cinnamon and Halloween themed foam designs were back. On your days off, you could enjoy a steaming mug, adoring the jack-o-lantern face staring back at you from atop your drink.

On days like today, you opted for the to-go version of your favorite vanilla latte, grabbing an americano as well as two slices of pumpkin cake, topped with chopped candied walnuts. The bell rang, the sound crystal clear as you exited the shop and headed down the sidewalk littered with fallen leaves in various shades of browns, oranges, and yellows.

Children hurried on by, on their way to school as you walked, rounding the corner and heading for the end of the block where the antique shop you worked at stood, the old brick building stood. It was a much older building than the ones that stood around it, the brick darker and more weatherworn.

You let out a sigh, breath hanging briefly in the cool air as you looked at the storefront. White and black striped awnings hung over the large windows, gold lettering adorning the glass in a curly script that read ‘Pandora’s Box’. You crossed the cobblestone street, heading for the old wooden door and pressed down on the handle. It turned under your hand and allowed you to enter the shop.

A soft bell rang out and immediately you could hear shuffling coming from the back of the shop.

“Sorry!” a voice called out. “We’re closed!” You ignored the voice as you moved around behind the front counter and set down both coffees and the paper bag with the pumpkin cake. You were taking off your coat when your coworker and owner of the voice appeared and glanced over at you.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, perking up and straightening his tan colored apron. You fought the urge to giggle as he walked over to the door and peered outside the window before turning the lock and looking over at you. “Thought I locked that when I came in,” he said as you removed your scarf and hung it up with your coat on the hook behind your seat.

“What’s this?” Joshua asked, looking down at the two coffees. You picked yours up and took a sip before picking the second one up and held it out for him. “You got me coffee?” he asked, taking the cup gently from you. “Hot americano, extra cream,” you answered, setting your cup down. “I also got us some-” you were interrupted by a sharp knocking at the window of the door.

Both you and Joshua turned to look and saw an older woman standing at the door. It was the elderly woman that lived out on Broome street. “Isn’t that the cat lady?” Joshua whispered, turning his head to look at you as he set his cup down. “Mrs. Briggs,” you reminded him.

Joshua moved to the door and unlocked it, opening the door and no doubt giving the grumpy old woman a pleasant smile. “How can I help you Mrs. Briggs?” he asked in his sweet voice. The old woman wore a very old fur coat that was a bit ratty, almost as if it hadn’t been taken proper care of.

Under the brown fur, she wore a mustard yellow turtleneck sweater with a long brown skirt that reached almost to her ankles. Under she had brown stockings and some brown low heels. She had all of her gray hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun complete with a yellow scrunchie. In her hands she carried a basket full of different knick knacks and trinkets.

“I need to drop these off,” she said in a gruff voice as she attempted to push past Joshua who blocked her path. She looked up at him, lips parted in a look of pure shock. “Who are you?” she demanded. Joshua gave her his famous smile. The one that had all the girls in the coffee shop swooning or the high school girls giggling as he passed by.

Joshua had only lived in this town for a few years now. He moved into the space above the shop which was owned by his aunt. His uncle had originally run the shop but after his uncle got sick and passed away, Joshua moved in to help his aunt out. He was only supposed to be in town for a short time but he decided to stay after a year. 

Joshua smiled at Mrs. Briggs. “It’s Joshua, Mrs. Briggs,” he reminded her. She looked positively outraged. “Well where is Bill?” she demanded angrily. “Uncle Bill passed away three years ago, Miriam,” you said, moving from behind the counter and approaching the door.

Upon seeing you, Mrs. Briggs looked much calmer. “Y/N!” she said desperately. You sent a subtle wink Joshua’s way and took over, keeping the old woman at the door. “I need to drop this off. I can’t have it in the house anymore,” she said, holding out the basket. You nodded, looking down and back up.

“Okay, Miriam. Let me just get my pad of paper and we’ll take care of it,” you said, turning to grab the pad from the counter. In your momentary lapse, Mrs. Briggs had managed to push the door open. Joshua moved forward but you waved him off. “I got this,” you mouthed as the woman set her basket on the counter. Joshua nodded and started to head to the back when you called him back, holding out his coffee and the paper sack.

He took them from you and you told him you’d eat your pumpkin cake later.

It took all of ten minutes to check in all the items Mrs. Briggs had brought in and when you were done, you gently ushered her to the door and waved her off before shutting and locking the door. Joshua reappeared, peering around. “You think after three years, she’d know who I am,” he said, moving to lean on the counter as you finished adding the items to the store’s inventory.

“She’s got Alzheimer’s,” you said softly as you worked. Joshua said nothing, watching you write instead. When you finished the line you were on, he finally spoke. “Sorry,” he whispered. You glanced up as you capped the pen and smiled at him. “It’s okay,” you responded, setting the pen aside and flipping the page to a new sheet. “She’s a mean old lady, even before her diagnosis. Very pushy and rude,” you replied as you started to place the items back in the basket.

Joshua moved to help you. “Did she want the basket back?” he asked as you worked together. You shook your head. “No,” you said with a chuckle. “The only thing Mrs. Briggs has more than cats are baskets. I don’t think she’ll be missing this one.” You gave him a wink and made to grab the handles. He stopped you, taking the basket himself. “I got this,” he said and nodded towards the back.

“Your slice of pumpkin cake is in the back. I’ll finish opening up, you go eat.”

You smiled, thanking him before heading to the break room in the back. It wasn’t so much a room as it was an area blocked off. There was a small kitchenette with a mini fridge, microwave, and a sink. In the middle of the space was a small round table with three wooden chairs. Sitting on the table was the paper sack. You washed your hands quickly and took a seat, opening the bag.

The pumpkin cake was delicious as always and you savored each bite. As you were finishing it, Joshua’s voice rang out from the front. “I’m going to open the shop!” he called. You stuffed the last bite of cake in your mouth and got up, tossing the paper sack in the bin and washed your hands, chewing hastily as you dried your hands and hurried back to the front.

Joshua stood behind the counter and looked up as you approached. “You didn’t have to come up here,” he chuckled as you grabbed your own apron from under the counter and put it on. “I was finished anyway,” you replied, attempting to tie your apron strings. Joshua laughed softly and moved to stand behind you. “Here,” he said softly, taking the ties from you and carefully tying them.

“It’s a lot easier when you have help,” he said, his voice soft and breath hitting the back of your neck.

Your cheeks burned and you were thankful he couldn’t see the way you drew your bottom lip between your teeth or hear the way your heart hammered in your chest or feel the heat rush to your core.

“There,” he said simply and moved to grab the paper he’d been reading. “All set.”

You forced a smile, turning your head before moving to your usual spot behind the counter and taking a seat on the stool.

It wasn’t the first time you’d had this reaction to Joshua and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

You weren’t proud to admit it, but you’d had more than one fantasy about your coworker. It was his fault really for being so nice and polite and sweet. Not to mention incredibly handsome and when he pushed his sleeves up, exposing his forearms, you could feel your panties stick to you every time he did something so effortlessly. 

It was no secret half the women in town found Joshua attractive and you were one of them. Unfortunately for you, he was your coworker and although Bill wasn’t around anymore, Joshua seemed to adhere to the strict no dating coworkers policy Bill had. Of course, Bill was married and he was usually the only one in the shop until you joined.

You weren’t in the habit of dating bosses so you never cared much about the policy but now it was driving you mad. Especially during the times it felt like Joshua was flirting with you though you never truly knew for sure if he was serious or just being playful. It was hard to tell with him.

The morning flew by after opening the shop. It wasn’t like you were busy. Most of the customers that came in only wanted to look around and very few ever bought anything. Sometimes you’d have town residents come by and drop off their old things. Most of your job was cashiering and inventory.

Joshua did most of the restoration work that came with old furniture as well as other physical tasks like carrying the larger items out to customers’ cars or moving large furniture items to make space for new items. When you weren't busy ringing someone up or filling out an inventory sheet, you’d find yourself watching Joshua work, admiring the way he lifted things with ease. He’d pushed up the sleeves of his cream colored sweater hours ago, exposing his forearms and the veins that peeked out whenever he exerted any force.

You tried not to make it obvious you were staring but sometimes he’d glance over and catch you, prompting you to turn your gaze back to the crossword puzzle you were absentmindedly filling out with bogus answers in pencil. When you looked away, you missed the way Joshua’s smile turned into more of a smirk. He knew you were watching him and he knew he had an effect on you to some extent.

But not the full extent.

He didn’t know how you sometimes thought about him late at night as you teased yourself with your fingers or how you imagined it was his fingers as you pushed them into your aching heat. He didn’t know it was him that you dreamed about riding or that you wondered how his cock tasted.

And he never would.

The sun had started to set when Joshua finally locked the front door. You stretched your arms above your head, letting out the tiniest of squeaks as he walked over. “You can head home,” he said, leaning against the counter, resting his palms against the surface.

“I can close up here,” he added. You shook your head. “It’s okay, you answered. “I don’t have any plans.” Joshua tilted his head, trying to hold back a smirk. “No exciting hot dates?” he asked as you opened the register. You snorted, shaking your head. “No,” you replied.

“Why not?” he asked as you started to count the bills in the till. You looked up to meet his gaze. You hadn’t expected him to ask you that. “Uh…” you trailed off as you stopped counting. “I guess I just haven’t met someone,” you answered. Joshua’s head tilted the opposite way at that.

“You haven’t?” he pressed. It seemed like he was trying to make a point but you weren’t sure what he expected you to say. You shook your head. “Well,” you continued. “Not anyone that’s available,” you added softly, turning your gaze back down to continue counting.

You finished counting the bills and moved onto the change as Joshua watched you. When you finished and wrote down the total, adding it to the records book, Joshua finally spoke. “How about we finish up here and then go get dinner,” he offered. You nearly tripped over your own feet as you turned away from the shelf where you stored the records book.

Turning to look at him, you found him already looking at you, a smile and expectant look.

“O-okay,” you said softly, mentally cursing yourself for stammering. Joshua smiled and turned away before heading to the back of the shop to make sure everything was locked up while you pulled out the profits from the register and placed them into a bank bag and headed for the back where you found Joshua grabbing the broom. “Here,” you said, holding out the bank bag.

He looked up as he separated the dustpan from the broom. He nodded towards the door that led upstairs. “Just set it up on the counter up there,” he said as he moved past you for the door back into the shop. “What?” you asked, turning as he stopped at the door. “Just put it on the kitchen counter up here,” he said with a smile. You glanced at the door to the stairs and then back at Joshua.

“You mean in your apartment?”

He nodded, the smile spreading. “Yeah,” he answered. “Here.” You watched as he reached into his pocket and fished out his keys before tossing them to you. “Just let yourself in.”

With that, he disappeared into the front and left you standing in the break area. Taking a deep breath, you turned to the door and took hold of the knob. ‘You got this Y/N,’ you told yourself. ��It’s just his apartment.’ 

You turned the knob and pushed the door open. It creaked softly as you peered into the dimly lit hall. The bottom landing was small and immediately went into the staircase. You shut the door behind you and started up the stairs, each step creaking under foot.

At the top, you managed to pick out the right key and unlocked the door before pushing it open.

Whatever you’d been expecting, it was not this. You’d only ever seen this space once and it was a mostly empty space with a few furniture items stored up here. It was dusty, dark save for the large glass windows at the back of the space that looked out into a small courtyard that backed up to a wooded area. The space had been transformed into a functional studio apartment.

A kitchen had been installed, brown counters with white quartz tops lined the wall against the stairs. A kitchen island separated the kitchen space from the living space. Facing a brick wall was a comfortable looking sofa with a low table between it and a media stand where a large flatscreen stood.

You walked further into the apartment, shutting the door behind you as you continued to look around.

The media stand held numerous DVDs and knick knacks. A knitted blanket lay folded over the arm of the cream colored couch with warm brown accent pillows. On the coffee table sat a small mirrored tray with a gold rim. In the middle was a small tv remote and a couple candles.

Against the wall under the windows stood a side table running the length of one of the windows. It had doors with small brass knobs and most likely held an assortment of different things. ‘Probably storage,’ you told yourself as you turned away from the living room. 

Behind the couch was a partition wall that didn’t reach the ceiling. It was made of bamboo and straight geometric shapes with a sheer material on one side to create a separate bedroom space.

The bed was a large king size, wooden frame with clawed feet. You recognized it as one of the pieces that had been stored up here before. Joshua must have cleaned and restored it because the last time you saw it, the wood was dull and coated with a thick layer of dust. 

At the end of the bed was a small bench with a folded blanket and a space to sit. Oh either side of the bed were matching nightstands in matching wood to the bed frame. The bed linens were creams and browns, both neutral but cozy and inviting. 

Next to the bedroom space at the end of the kitchen was a small folding door housing what you assumed was a pantry and next to that was another door which you could only assume led to a bathroom. 

Between the bed and the bathroom stood a large armoire with double doors. It was another piece that you recognized being stored in the space and just like the bed frame, Joshua cleaned and restored it so it was almost unrecognizable.

Next to the armoire in the corner was a full length mirror leaning against the wall. The top was decorated with postcards and a few pictures. Before you had a chance to move closer and take a look, you heard the door behind you open and spun around to find Joshua entering the apartment.

The two of you stared at one another for a moment before he spoke. “I’m done downstairs,” he commented. “Thought you might have gotten lost,” he added with a smirk. You shook your head, still holding the bank bag. Joshua nodded towards it. “You gonna hold onto that?” he asked, amused when you quickly set it down on the kitchen island.

“Shall we then?” he asked, nodding towards the door. You nodded without another word and headed for the door quickly, much to his amusement. Joshua stopped you with his hand on your arm gently. You looked down at his hand and up to meet his gaze. He held out his other hand.

“Keys?” he asked simply. You dropped them in his hand and headed down the stairs as he chuckled to himself, closing the door and locking it before following you.

“Are you hungry?” he asked as you reached the landing. You nodded again. “Yeah,” you managed to say as he led the way into the front of the shop. “How does Italian sound?” he asked as you grabbed your things, pulling on your coat and scarf. You nodded, heading for the door as he followed.

“Italian sounds fine.”

Once the shop was locked up, the walk to the Italian restaurant didn’t take much time at all. It was a small place with only about 5 tables and a small bar. It was nestled between a bakery and butcher shop, all owned by the same family. Joshua held the door for you with a smile as you thanked him and stepped inside.

You’d been to this place maybe once or twice in the whole time you’d lived in this town. It had been owned by the same family for generations and was currently being run by the grandchildren of the original owner. A young girl at the host stand smiled as you entered the building.

“Just two?” she asked. Joshua nodded as she gathered the menus and silverware, rolled up into black cloth napkins. She tucked the menus and silverware into her arm and picked up a pen, jotting something down on a piece of paper on the host stand before smiling at the two of you. “Right this way!”

She led you to a smaller table in the corner meant for couples. All the tables were round, most seating about four patrons. There was a small room off the main dining area with a much larger table meant for bigger parties. Along the wall were smaller tables with two chairs each and at the back was the bar. A long window allowed a look into the kitchen where you could catch glimpses of workers passing by.

A door at the far corner opposite your table allowed workers in and out of the kitchen. You removed your coat, laying it across the back of your chair and sat down as Joshua did the same and the hostess set the menus and silverware down on the table. “What can I get you started to drink?” she asked as you both settled into your seats.

“Just water,” you answered, not in the mood for soda or coffee. Joshua smiled at the hostess as he glanced over the drink menu. “A glass of cabernet, please,” he said politely. He turned to look at you. “You sure you just want water?” he asked, tilting his head. You looked down at the menu, eyes scanning before finding something that sounded good. “I’ll just have a limoncello martini,” you said, looking up at the hostess who smiled and nodded. “I’ll go put those in and your server will be by soon,” she chirped.

“And I’ll still bring you that water,” she added with a wink your way before heading off.

You looked down at the menu, flipping it over to look at the entrees. The menu wasn’t huge but they had a lot of options to choose from. As your eyes scanned, you could feel eyes on you and glanced up through your lashes to find Joshua already doing the same. He glanced back down, a smirk tugging at his lips. You looked back down, trying to finalize your decision.

“I can’t choose,” you heard him say softly. “I’m stuck between the tuscan-grilled sirloin or the mezzaluna,” he added, glancing up to meet your gaze. “Well they have an option to do both,” you offered, looking over the combinations. “You could get a 7 oz sirloin and a half order of mezzaluna,” you read off the menu. “That way you don’t have to choose.”

Joshua nodded as he looked at the menu. “What are you getting?” he asked softly, looking up once more. “The chicken,” you answered, setting your menu down as the host returned, setting two glasses of water down. You thanked her and picked it up, taking a sip. “Which chicken?” Joshua asked as he lifted his own glass, keeping his eyes trained on you.

Before you could answer, the server arrived. She was around the same age as the hostess and looked like she could be an older sister. “Hey,” she said breathlessly and you could only assume she’d been running all over the restaurant, serving multiple tables. “Your drinks should be coming from the bar in just a moment,” she said as she pulled out a pad and a pen. “Would you like to start with an appetizer?” she asked, looking between the two of you.

Before you could say anything, Joshua answered.

I’d actually like to get an order of the cozze in bianco,” he said without even looking at the menu. “I’ve tried just about every other starter but I haven’t tried the mussels,” he added. The server smiled as she jotted that down. “They’re really good,” she answered. “I’m not just saying that cause I work here,” she continued. “They’re genuinely delicious. It’s my grandma’s recipe,” she added.

You looked up, intrigue written across your face. “You’re part of the family?” you asked. She nodded with a proud smile. “Fourth generation,” she clarified. “My great grandparents started the place. My grandparents just retired and now my uncle and dad are running the place,” she explained, pointing at two men behind the bar.

“My sister is one of the hosts,” she added, pointing to the host stand where the hostess who had seated you stood. “I thought you might be related,” you said with a triumphant smile. It felt good knowing your instincts were spot on. “Yeah!” the server said. “Anyway, I’ll get this in,” she said, tapping the pad with her pen. “Then I’ll grab your drinks and come back to take your meal order,” she added with a smile and an “I’ll be right back.”

Once she left, Joshua turned to look at you. “I guess it really is a family business,” he said with an amused tone. You nodded, uncertain of what to say. Silence fell over the two of you as you waited for the server to return. You glanced up from the menu to find Joshua reading over the list of wines. “So,” you said softly, drawing his attention away from the paper.

“You’ve been here a lot?” you asked. Joshua smiled, setting the wine list down. “Been here? Sort of,” he answered. “This place is right around the corner from the shop,” he started to explain as you took another sip of water. “It’s perfect for getting carryout,” he added. “I’ll just call and place an order and then come pick it up and take it home.”

You listened patiently as he explained. “I don’t go out much,” he continued. You tilted your head as he spoke. “How come?” Joshua looked up from the table, eyes meeting yours. “I don’t know many people,” he admitted softly. “So you just stay in your apartment?” you questioned.

He nodded slowly. “Sometimes I go visit my aunt but my cousin recently moved back in with her and we don’t exactly…” he trailed off, thinking of the right words. “Get along.” Before you could ask any more, the server returned with your drinks, setting the wine in front of Joshua and the cocktail in front of you.

“So,” she said with a smile as she pulled out her notepad and pen. “What can I get you?”

After ordering, your conversation with Joshua shifted to other things. You talked about what he did in his spare time, discussing his taste in movies, books, and more. It was the most you’d ever gotten the chance to speak to him but it was nice to learn more about the man you spent half your day with four days a week. You wanted to consider Joshua a friend and hoped he could do the same.

The food was amazing. The mussels were cooked to perfection and though you were never big on them, Joshua got you to try at least one and you were surprised by how good it was. Your meals arrived just as you were finishing the last of your appetizers.

His steak looked incredible and he’d asked for marsala sauce on top. Your chicken was juicy and tender and the lemon butter sauce was perfect. You were glad you decided to forgo the capers in the end. The portions were just right and you were left feeling full but not stuffed at the end.

As your server took your empty dishes, she asked if you had saved room for dessert. Joshua glanced at you. “We’ll look over the menu,” he said and she nodded, moving to take your empty plates away. Joshua looked over the dessert menu. “I don’t think I could any more,” you commented. “Not without hating myself afterwards.” Joshua snorted and handed the menu to you.

“We could always split something,” he offered. 

You looked over the page, eyes scanning the sheet. There were staples like tiramisu and cannolis but there were also unique twists on traditional pieces like a cannoli cake. You spotted a chocolate cake as well as cheesecake. “I’m not sure,” you said softly, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth before handing the menu back. “You decide. I’m sure whatever you pick will be delicious,” you added.

Joshua looked over the menu as the server returned. “Made a decision?” she asked to which Joshua nodded. “One slice of the cannoli cake,” he answered, handing her the menu. “We’ll take it to go,” he added and she nodded, moving to put in the order and bring the check. You moved to open your bag but Joshua stopped you. “This is on me,” he said as he pulled out his wallet.

“No, it’s okay!” you said as you pulled your own wallet out. Joshua shook his head. “I insist,” he said more firmly. “I asked you to join me. It’s my treat,” he continued. Sensing you weren’t going to win this argument, you let him have his victory.

When the server returned with the check, Joshua immediately handed her his card and she walked away. While she was gone, you replaced your wallet in your bag and looked up to meet Joshua’s gaze. “Thank you,” you said softly. “For dinner.” Joshua returned the smile as the server returned with his card and the cannoli cake slice already bagged up.

Joshua signed the slip as the server smiled at you. “How was everything?” she asked.

“Oh it was amazing,” you answered as you finished your cocktail. “Better than I remembered,” you added. “Thank you so much,” Joshua said as he slipped a couple bills out of his wallet and tucked them behind the signed slip and handed them to the server. “The food and the service was incredible as always,” he added. The server thanked both of you before walking away.

Joshua stood up and grabbed his coat. You stood up quickly, gathering your things as he grabbed the togo bag and led the way to the door.

Outside, the sun had fully set behind the trees and the streetlamps outside had turned on. You pulled your coat on, noticing the chill that had set in. Joshua had already pulled his coat on and was watching as you slung your scarf around your neck. “Well, I should get home,” you said breathlessly. 

Joshua gave you a peculiar look. “Don’t you want to come up and try this?” he asked, holding up the to-go bag. “We got it to split,” he reminded you.

Although your gut was telling you this was a bad idea, you agreed and followed Joshua down the sidewalk and around the corner. The shop loomed over the both of you in the darkness, only one dim streetlamp illuminating the space in front of it as Joshua reached the door and pulled out his keys.

He unlocked the door and stepped in, allowing you to enter after him. As he shut the door your eye fell on the basket on the counter. You were almost one hundred percent certain that hadn’t been there when you both left earlier. “Uh… what’s that?” you asked as Joshua closed and locked the door.

He looked to where you were pointing, setting the bag on the counter and moving to the basket.

“It almost looks like Mrs. Briggs basket,” he said as he grabbed the handle and pulled it towards him. “But the items are different.” You watched as he sifted through the items. “Could you uh…” he asked, turning to look at you. “I hate to ask since we’ve already closed up and it is pretty late, but could you inventory this for me?,” he continued. 

“I really should learn how to do it myself.”

You nodded, moving around the counter to grab your pad and pen. You watched as he pulled each item  out and set them on the counter. “None of these items are the same as the ones Mrs. Briggs brought earlier,” you said softly as you started to write down the items and the descriptions.

Your eyes fell onto a small statuette and you set your pen down before grabbing it and looking at it.

In the low light you could tell it was very old. It was a small animal statue. The material you couldn’t discern but it almost felt ceramic. It was a cute little calico kitty. You looked it over but couldn’t find any manufacturer or name. “Huh,” you huffed as you set it down, drawing Joshua’s attention.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. You looked up at him. “This little statue,” you replied, gesturing to the cat. Joshua picked it up and turned it to face him. “What about it?” he asked. You shrugged. “I don’t know actually,” you said softly. “It just caught my eye.”

Joshua glanced up at you and back to the figurine in his hand. He set it back down in front of you. “Tell you what,” he said softly. “You can have it.” You looked up from the notepad, eyes wide. “What? Really?” you asked. He nodded and shrugged. “It’s just a little cat figurine,” he added. “Keep it,” he said.

You thanked him and went back to finishing inventorying all the items. When you were done and the basket packed back up save for your little calico figure, you followed Joshua up to his apartment where he started to unpack the slice of cake. The two of you stood around the kitchen island. “Here,” Joshua said, handing you a fork and using his own to take a bite.

You watched as his eyes fluttered shut, sighing in contentment. “That’s really good,” he murmured, turning to find you watching him. “Try it,” he urged, pushing the plate towards you. You gently stabbed your fork into the cake and brought a piece up to your mouth, fully aware Joshua was watching you intently. It felt oddly intimate, having him watch you so keenly.

Once you tasted the cake, however, his interest in watching you was made clear.

“Wow,” you said through a mouthful of cake, covering your mouth with your hand and looking up to meet his gaze. “That’s really good!” Joshua smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I know!” he exclaimed, taking another bite. The two of you continued to take bites of the cake until there was one little piece left. 

You held your hands up and moved to the kitchen sink, rinsing your fork and placing it with the other dishes. “I’m done!” you said as Joshua turned. “The last bite is yours though,” he said with a frown. You shook your head. “No,” you said softly. “I’m good. You can have it.”

Joshua shook his head, moving to stand beside you. “No,” he replied, holding the piece for you. “It’s yours.” You looked from the piece of cake up to his face. He was waiting patiently for you to take the bite and although your gut was telling you this was a bad idea, you took the plunge anyway.

His eyes never left your face as you pulled back, chewing and swallowing the last bite of cake. “Okay,” you said, looking up. “Now I’m-”

Your words were cut short by Joshua pulling you in, lips crashing against yours. You moaned into the kiss as his lips parted yours, tongue slipping into your mouth. All you tasted was cake and saliva. He’d abandoned the plate the second you accepted his advances, discarding it on the counter behind you as one hand moved to your hip, the other staying put on the back of your neck.

Joshua guided your body away from the sink and against the kitchen island. You groaned as the counter dug into your back, a sound that Joshua swallowed as he deepened the kiss. “Fuck,” you hissed as his lips left yours, trailing over your cheek and down the side of your neck.

Without warning, he pulled back, spinning you to face the rest of the room, pushing you against the counter as he grinded against you, allowing you to feel his hard cock. “You have no idea how crazy you drive me,” he growled, one arm wrapping around your chest and holding you against him as he rutted against you. You let out a feeble moan, hands moving up to grab his arm as your legs threatened to give out under you. “J-Joshua,” you whimpered.

Your voice must have snapped him back to reality and just as quickly as it started, Joshua pushed away from you, facing the sink and gripping the sides as he tried to control his breathing. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry.” You turned to face his back, hands on the counter behind you as you steadied yourself. “Wh-what just happened?” you panted.

Joshua shook his head and when he spoke again, his voice sounded strained. “I think you should go.”

Your brows knit together in confusion. Was he… kicking you out? After all that?

“What?” you whispered. Joshua raised his head but still didn’t turn to look at you.

“You should go home,” he said, his voice still strained. “This is wrong.”

You stared at the back of his head incredulously. He practically jumped you at the sink and almost bent you over the island of his kitchen and now he was backpedaling? You said nothing, instead grabbing your coat and scarf from the seat you left them on and headed for the door, yanking it open before stepping out onto the landing and slamming the door behind you.

Your footsteps were loud, echoing as you ran down the old wooden steps and into the back room of the shop.

Up front you reached the door in record time but stopped as something caught your eye. The little cat figurine was sitting on the counter, staring back at you. In a split second decision, you grabbed it. He had said you could keep it after all.

The bell rang softly as you exited the shop, slamming the door behind you and hurried down the sidewalk and around the corner. You stopped for a moment to catch your breath before continuing on.

It was late. Really late you noticed as you walked in the direction of your home. The shops and restaurants had all closed for the night and there wasn’t a soul to be found as you walked down the deserted street. 

The shops to your left were all dark, only a couple with running lights on in the back of the shop. On the right side, across the street was the park. It covered a good portion of the town, stretching for several blocks. The park was home to the playground, a pond, a dog park, and lots of walking trails.

It was covered in trees and lots of shrubbery. It was a lovely place to walk and visit all year round but right now it felt menacing and looming. You tried not to focus on it as you continued down the path before you, clutching the cat statue tightly in your hands.

It didn’t take long for you to finally reach your home, ignoring the chilly breeze that followed as you let yourself in and shutting the door behind you. It was an older home, built back before the town grew up. It was a family home, one you inherited from your parents after their passing. It was a cute craftsman style home with four bedrooms. You’d closed off the bedrooms upstairs, taking up residence in the master bedroom on the main floor.

You locked the door, listening for the click of the lock as it engaged before finally settling and feeling relieved. You shrugged your coat off and pulled the scarf from around your neck, hanging both up by the door before kicking your shoes off and heading into the living area.

You set the cat statue on the kitchen counter and moved to your fridge to grab some water. You always kept a few bottles of water in the fridge. Turning as you uncapped the bottle and started to sip, you jumped slightly at the glowing eyes peering in at you from the back window.

Once you realized it was only a cat, you berated yourself for overreacting and downed some more water before moving to the bedroom but only after making sure the doors and windows were locked.

In the safety of your room, you drew the blinds and curtains, quickly undressing and pulling on your pajamas. Your bed was all but calling your name as you pulled back the covers and climbed in, settling under the comforter as the exhaustion of the day weighed down on you.

You fell into a deep slumber, one you didn’t even remember falling into.

Your alarm woke you up at 630 on the dot and you groaned, lifting your head to peek at the red numbers. You really did not want to get out of bed. Mostly because you were comfortable in your warm cocoon and because the events of last night were flooding back in and you weren’t sure if you could even face Joshua after that. 

You knew staying in bed and wallowing in your misery wasn’t going to help so as much as you didn’t want to, you turned your alarm off, threw the covers off your body and started to pull yourself from the depths of your bed.

As you sat up, you grabbed your phone sitting on the nightstand beside your half empty bottle of water.

Unlocking the screen you found you had a text waiting for you. From Joshua.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you tapped on the icon to read what he had to say.

Joshua: hey, don’t worry about coming in today. The shop is closed for some repairs. You’ll still get paid so don’t worry about that either. I’ll see you Monday

Your stomach dropped into your lap as you read his messages. So he couldn’t face you either? You weren’t sure what kind of repairs the shop could need. There wasn’t anything you noticed in the last few days. You chose to avoid deciphering what he meant and instead to use the day to get things done.

As you got up and started your morning, you took a shower and changed into clean clothes, opting for a light caramel colored sweater and light denim jeans. You gathered up your dirty clothes and took them to the small laundry room off your kitchen, setting a load and going about the rest of the house, cleaning and putting things back where they belonged.

Time ticked by as you worked, stopping briefly to take a lunch break when you realized you were low on groceries. Deciding to swap your washed clothes over to the dryer first, you set out from the house, donning your cream colored long coat but forgoing the scarf. Today was much warmer than the previous day. 

Your walk from your neighborhood to the market only took a couple minutes and you greeted the cashier at the front as you entered and grabbed a bright yellow shopping trolley. You wheeled your cart through the aisles, grabbing items from your list off the shelves and crossing them off as they landed in the basket. You had just turned into the cereal aisle when you stopped dead in your tracks.

Halfway down the aisle was Joshua. He was smiling as he handed a box from the top shelf to an elderly woman. You couldn’t see her face so you didn’t know which resident it was. You tried to back up and head for another aisle but in your haste, you bumped into the display next to you, knocking a few cans of beans off the shelves.

Joshua and the woman heard the commotion and looked in your direction. ‘Oh brilliant,’ you thought to yourself as you knelt down to pick up the stray cans that rolled across the tile. As you stood up, Joshua and the woman had parted ways and he was currently walking in your direction.

You turned away as he approached, setting up the cans and trying to mimic the display they’d been in before.

“Hey,” you heard Joshua say softly. You turned to face him, forcing a smile. “Hey,” you mimicked.

The two of you said nothing, instead standing awkwardly before one another, looking anywhere that wasn’t the other person. ‘Why is this so awkward? Why are you even still standing here? Just walk away!’ You cleared your throat and forced another smile, laughing awkwardly as you took the handle of your trolley. “Well, I gotta go,” you said, your voice much higher pitched than before.

Joshua’s eyebrows shot up as you started to turn your cart and push it past him. He was quick, grabbing your wrist and turning you to face him, backing you up against the shelf of canned beans. Your breath caught in your throat as Joshua looked at you, eyes studying your face.

You saw them briefly look down to your lips and back up. Finally he spoke.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what came over me.” you shook your head quickly. “It’s fine,” you squeaked. “Alcohol does that sometimes,” you added after clearing your throat. Joshua nodded, eyes still fixated on your lips as you spoke. “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” you continued.

The shift in his expression was unmistakable but you couldn’t tell what emotion he was conveying. “It… doesn’t?” he asked softly. You shimmied out of his grip, straightening your coat as you heard voices enter the aisle you were currently standing in. “No,” you replied. “It doesn’t.”

Joshua opened his mouth to respond but you stopped him. “Don’t worry about it,” you added. “Let’s just forget it. I’ll see you on Monday.”

You didn’t let him speak as you hurried away, pushing your cart into the next aisle to finish your shopping. You were grateful he didn’t attempt to follow you and luckily you didn’t see him again, which allowed you to return to the cereal aisle and grab a box of your favorite brand.

After visiting the dairy section, you headed to the front to check out. The next stop was the butchershop where you grabbed your usual cuts of chicken, pork, and beef before heading home to stock your fridge as well as fold and put away your clean laundry.

The task took longer than you were expecting and by the time the last towel was neatly tucked and folded, you saw that it was getting close to dinner time. You sighed, glancing at your fridge upon realizing you hadn’t prepared anything you bought yet.

You got up and walked over to the fridge and opened the door, looking at the contents and settled on one of the flank steaks you’d bought earlier. You grabbed the package and pulled it from the fridge as well as a couple other items and started with rinsing the vegetables you selected.

As you set the items on the counter, the small kitten figure caught your eye. You’d yet to find it a home in your place and moved to pick it up. As you did, a small portion of the bottom fell off onto the counter with a soft clatter and you cursed under your breath. It seemed as if the statuette had a small seal on the bottom that had seemingly come loose.

You turned the figure upside down and your eye caught the end of something shoved into the tiny space inside the ceramic figure. You carefully removed what turned out to be a rolled up piece of paper and set the figure down to start unrolling the paper.

Blackish text written in what you could only assume was a dark red ink adorned one side of the paper. You weren’t sure what it said but you could tell it was a different language. Possibly latin. Your brows furrowed as you read the words in your head before trying to sound them out.

“Te invoco a profundus inferni,” you read off in what you could only assume was terrible latin. You studied the paper for a moment longer before shrugging and turning to your trash bin, crumbling up the paper and tossing it away.

‘Out of sight, out of mind.’

Once rinsed, you started to prepare the potatoes, slicing them thinly before adding them to a glass baking dish. You worked over the dish and the stove simultaneously, making a cream sauce to add to the potatoes before sprinkling some cheese and panko over the top and putting in the oven.

While that baked, you poured yourself a glass of wine and turned on some music on your phone. The bottle was a new one you picked up earlier. While sipping on the wine, you prepared the steak for cooking, seasoning both sides since you didn’t have time to marinate it.

Soft jazzy tunes floated through the air as you went about the kitchen, heating a skillet before adding the steak which started sizzling immediately. You sipped on some more wine as you waited to flip the steak over. Your mind wandered as you waited, wondering what Joshua was up to before you forced the thought out of your head.

‘Stop thinking about him!’

You continued to listen to the music as your steak cooked, sizzling again when you flipped it onto the uncooked side. Once the steak was cooked to your liking, you pulled it from the pan and set it aside to rest while you checked your potatoes and added the chopped veggies to the hot pan, drizzling them with some oil. It was something you learned from your mother.

Once you were sure your veggies were done, the timer for the oven went off and you made a plate for yourself, sitting down at the kitchen island to eat. You had a dining room but as you lived alone, you saw no point in using the table. You could just eat at the island instead.

Just as you were cutting into the steak, you heard the doorbell ring and turned to look at the front door which you could just see from your spot. You waited for a moment before it rang again and you got up quickly, moving to answer it.

Pushing the curtain covering the window beside the door aside, you peered out onto the front step but saw no one. You contemplated opening the door but decided against it and instead looked through the peephole.

Again, you saw no one standing on the other side.

You took a step back, staring at the door in confusion until your thoughts were interrupted by three sharp knocks. You stared at the door and moved quickly back to peer through the hole. Again, the front step was empty. You moved to peer through the curtain but still saw nothing. You turned the deadbolt and backed away from the door, staring at it for a few moments more.

When nothing happened, you turned to head back to the kitchen to finish your dinner.

Just as you crossed the threshold into the living room, three loud knocks rang out from the door, causing you to whip around and head back to the door. This time you unlocked and opened the wooden door, leaving the metal storm door securely closed and locked.

Outside, just as you suspected, was no one. The street was deserted as the sun set behind the trees, casting everything in a bluish glow. The twilight glow. You peered out at your front porch, looking from side to side but not opening the outside door.

Seeing no one, you stepped back and shut the door, locking it once more before stepping back and waiting to see if someone knocked again. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, you hadn’t seen anyone before so why would you see anyone this time?

As you were wondering, you heard something different. Loud, heavy footfalls on the steps outside, almost like someone stomping up the steps to your porch. Before you could move to throw open the door to confront the trickster, three loud pounds sounded at the door, the strength of it shaking the floor of your vestibule.

Your eyes widened, heart hammering in your chest as you backed away. Another three pounding slams sounded on the other side of your door. Followed by three more. You rushed to the door and as soon as your hand fell on the handle it all stopped.

You didn’t dare open the door this time. Instead, you made sure the front door was locked before going around the rest of the first floor to make sure all the doors and windows were secured and properly locked. When you were certain they were, you headed upstairs to check the windows and attic door.

Upon reaching the landing, you were horrified to see that the attic door was cracked open. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the door, unmoving. You felt a cold chill run up your spine. Although you couldn’t see anything, you knew someone was looking back at you from the darkness.

You watched in horror as the cracked attic door slowly shut on its own. You blew off your sweep of the second floor of your home before running downstairs and grabbing your phone to call the police. As you waited for the operator to pick up you felt a breeze and looked to see your back door was open.

‘I just locked that!’ You were certain you’d locked that before going upstairs. You’d even done the tug test on it. The line clicked and you were greeted with the sound of breathing.

“Hello?” you asked into the receiver frantically. When no one answered but the breathing started to turn into distorted voices and then a deep rumbling growl you hung up and dropped your phone onto the counter next to your plate.

The corners of your eyes burned as you wandered cautiously towards the open door. You peered out the door into the dark and in an instant, you could have sworn your heart stopped. Your breathing sped up as you tried in vain not to hyperventilate.

Standing outside your door, just beyond the reach of the back porch light was a dark figure. There were no distinguishing features, no eyes, nothing to tell you anything other than the fact that someone… or something, was standing outside your door.

Without thinking, you rushed the door and slammed it shut, turning the lock before backing away.

The shrill tone of your phone sounded out and you rushed to pick it up without checking the screen.

“Hello?” you all but shouted. “Ma’am this is [xxx]. We received a call from this number moments ago. Do you have an emergency?” relief flooded your body as you almost passed out from the stress.

“Yes!” you said quickly. “I think someone is in my attic,” you answered. No sooner than you said those words, you heard a loud crash from upstairs. “He might have left the attic and is in the house,” you whispered, your body starting to shake.

“Can you give me your address?” “It’s Y/N,” you said quickly before giving your address. The town was small and the police station wasn’t far from your home. You knew an officer would be by in no time. “Okay Y/N,” the dispatcher said. “I have two officers enroute. In the meantime, can you find a weapon and a place to hide?”

Your eyes landed on the huge knife you’d used to cut your steak earlier and grabbed it quickly. “I have a knife,” you announced softly to the dispatcher who commended you. “Now you need to find a place to hide. Can you do that?” he asked. You tiptoed softly towards your bedroom, keeping your eyes on the bottom of the stairs before finally reaching the threshold and closing your bedroom door.

You turned the lock and made for your closet, squeezing in and sliding the door shut.

“I’m in the closet in my bedroom,” you whispered to the dispatcher. “Where is your bedroom located?” he asked. “Ground floor, back of the house behind the kitchen,” you whispered back. “Please tell them to hurry!”

You listened as the sounds of slow heavy footsteps pounded across the floor above you, heading for the stairs. “I think they’re coming downstairs!” you hissed. “Okay, Y/N,” the dispatcher said calmly. “The officers are almost there. I’m going to stay on the line but you need to be quiet for me, can you do that?” 

You nodded and hummed in the affirmative as the heavy steps made their way down the stairs, one step at a time. Each slam had you jumping. You were shaking as you listened, keeping the knife ready to lash out. To your horror, the steps started to walk through the first floor and sounded like they were making a beeline for your room.

You tried to control your breathing as the steps stopped just outside your bedroom door.

You waited for there to be banging or for the door to fly open but neither happened. Instead, there was a rapid knocking at your front door followed by the sound of the front door opening and a voice calling out “police!” you waited for the bedroom door to open and the closet door to slide aside as a light was shown in. “I found her,” the holder of the light said as you held up your hands.

The knife was taken from you and the officer helped you up. After they escorted you out of the house, one officer spoke while another two searched the house bottom to top, clearing each room and even going up into the attic. While the officers searched your home, you gave your statement to the officer who wrote down everything you said.

“And you’re sure you locked all the doors?” he asked, looking up from the notepad. You nodded again. “It’s just that when we arrived, both front doors were unlocked,” he explained. You stared at him blankly. “That’s not possible,” you replied. “I know I locked that door. Multiple times,” you explained.

“Someone was ringing and then kept knocking but each time I checked, there was no one there. I thought it was just kids getting into the Halloween spirit and being a nuisance. Until the pounding,” you continued. The officer narrowed his eyes. “Pounding?” he asked. You nodded as the two officers exited you home.

“Y-yeah,” you answered. “It started as light knocking but when I refused to open the door or come out onto the porch, it turned into pounding. I heard loud stomping up the steps but when I checked, I still saw nothing.”

The officer nodded as he jotted that down while one of the two officers came over.

“We found no sign of forced entry,” she started to explain. “We found a stack of boxes in the attic had fallen over. That was probably the loud crash you heard,” she continued. “Your back door was also unlocked.” Your jaw dropped. “I know I locked that!” you exclaimed. When I came downstairs to call you, the back door was open and when I walked over, I saw someone standing outside-”

“You saw someone outside?” the officer originally taking your statement asked. You nodded quickly as he started writing down more notes. “What did they look like?” You sighed heavily. 

“I-I didn’t get a good look.” 

Both officers exchanged looks as you rushed to explain further. 

“They were standing just outside the light field,” you explained. “But they were tall. Maybe around 1.8 meters,” you explained. “Everything else was just black. There were no distinguishing features at all,” you added. The officers nodded. “Ma’am,” the woman started and you turned to her.

“We noticed an open bottle of wine in the fridge,” she stated and you knew where she was going. “I just opened it,” you explained. “I hadn’t even finished a glass yet,” you added. She nodded and the other officer quickly jotted that down as well. 

“Well, other than the boxes in the attic,” she started. “There are no signs of anyone inside the home. Since the points of entry were unlocked, they must have gone out that way before we got here.”

You shook your head silently. “I heard them walk up to the bedroom but I never heard footsteps leave.”

The officers exchanged looks before the woman spoke again. “We’ll have a patrol car in the area for the night and if anything else happens, call us immediately,” she explained as she pulled a card out of a little pouch on her belt. “You can call me directly,” she added. “I’m on duty all night.”

The female officer walked you to your door where you thanked her and watched as both cars pulled away and headed down the street. A chilly breeze blew through the front porch followed by a distant flash of lightning and you quickly retreated inside, making sure your doors were locked before heading to the back door to do the same.

Once you were fully satisfied your doors were locked, you returned to the kitchen to clean up your dinner, putting the uneaten portions in a glass container and putting it in the fridge. You downed the rest of your wine and started to rinse your dishes, placing them in the dishwasher before turning off the lights and heading upstairs to make sure all the lights were off, windows closed and locked.

Before heading back down, you turned back to look at the attic door which was firmly shut. You headed down the steps carefully, turning off the light at the bottom landing before heading to your bedroom where you checked your windows.

Once you were sure everything was secure, you changed and got ready for bed.

Climbing under the covers, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to sleep but exhaustion took over and you were out within minutes of crawling into bed.

You were in the midst of a really good dream when you were startled awake by a loud crash and sudden burst of wind. Sitting up, you looked around the dark room and saw one of your windows had sprang open. ‘How the hell did that open?’

You threw the covers off your legs and got up, moving around the bed ro quickly shut the window, clicking your tongue as you stepped in a wet puddle on the wood floor.

The crash you had heard was thunder and a full blown storm was raging outside. You groaned and turned back towards the room as a flash of lightning illuminated the space causing you to stop in your tracks. In the corner by the door stood a tall, dark shadow.

Your heart hammered in your chest, beating almost up into your throat as it closed, your ability to scream being ripped from you. ‘No,’ you thought. ‘This can’t be happening.’

You glanced at the door but knew deep in your heart that you’d never make it to the door, not with the shadow standing right beside it. Maybe you could climb out the window? Damn! You should have left it open! If only you’d seen the shadow before closing the window!

As you weighed your options, a deep, gravelly voice spoke.

“C̸̫͕̿̀̎̈́̈ͅȗ̶̠̳͉̽ṟ̴͖͛̈́̂̓͠ ̶̞͈̈́̌̄̋͂c̵̪̱̆͂̃u̵̡̪̜̠̣͗͒ř̵̤̠͕͈̉r̵̺̙͙͍̦͂̐i̸͈̜͕͙͐́̑̾t̸̨̩͖̣͖̀̑i̵̯͖̼̓͌͛̑s̴̭̐̍̚̚͠ ?”

You stared at the shadow in the corner. Did… did it just speak?

Uncertain if you heard correctly, you waited for it to speak again, although you had no idea what it said.

“M̶̳̞͖̓ͅỏ̷̮̲̯̚r̴̭̹̈͋̀̎t̶͓̩̪̟̿̉̒́̅a̴͓͐̽͊l̸̲̰̯͛͛͠e̴̝͝m̵͕̱̾͋ ̸̫̩̾͜t̸̪͚͔͋e̴͕̠̘̖̅̍͊ ̶̝̞̌i̵̯̺̯̋̉̄ͅn̶̺̳͚̟̟̊́͆̀t̵̫͗̌̎̕͝e̸̗̋̚ṝ̴̺͇̉͗͗͠r̸̺̭̫͈̖̅̉o̷̟͙̥̱͗͌-̴̮̇ ̷͓́g̷̰̪͋͛̕͝ā̸̙͊̍v̴̭̙̜͋̾̊̚i̶̦̟͌͋̈́͛ .”

Your lips parted as it addressed you, still in the same language.

“I-I don’t understand,” you whispered. The shadow didn’t move but instead, in the same gravelly voice it spoke again, this time in English. “I asked you why you keep running away from me.”

Your stomach nearly fell out of your ass. Whatever this was, it was sentient. “Wh-who are you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The shadow figure chuckled. Actually fucking chuckled. The sound was distorted and unsettling.

“I am Tarrunach,” it answered. Your brain tried to wrap around the name. It was unlike anything you’d heard before. “T-Tarrunach?” you repeated. The figure said nothing and stayed perfectly still, another flash of lightning illuminating the room but still the shadow stayed black, a stark contrast with its surroundings.

“What do you want?” you asked softly, shifting your weight as your hand slowly reached behind you for the window latch. The shadow figure tilted its head before speaking in its rough voice.

“You summoned me.”

Your eyebrows shot up. ‘Summoned?’

You shook your head, halting your movements. “N-no I didn’t,” you answered. There was another flash of light and a clap of thunder. As soon as darkness returned to the room, the shadow figure shifted. Eyes appeared and it took all your willpower not to scream in terror at the sight of glowing red eyes.

“Is that the game you want to play?” it asked, voice scratchy and low. “You summoned me. Do you not remember the incantation?”

As you opened your mouth to say no, a memory played in your head, almost like a movie reel. The cat figure with the roll of paper inside. The strange words written in dark red ink. 

‘Te invoco a profundus inferni,’ Your eyes widened as the realization hit you.

You knew it was latin but you didn’t know latin. Had you…

Had you accidentally summoned a demon?

You looked back up and noticed the shadow figure had moved and was now standing in front of the door. You leaned back against the window, fingers searching for the latch to open them. 

“I-” you trailed off. “I didn’t know that was an incantation,” you admitted. “I thought it was gibberish.”

The figure laughed again. “Are you in the practice of reciting gibberish often?”

You shook your head. “No,” you answered. “Not particularly. I don’t see gibberish very often.”

You were stalling but the figure was moving closer. The flat black shadowy figure had taken on a more corporeal look, instead of blurry appendages, you could make out a curve in the arms by its side. Your fingers brushed against the latch but didn’t manage to catch on.

Another bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, throwing your room in a cast of bright white allowing you to see the figure in full. Your eyes widened, a scream forming in your throat.

Before you stood a blackened figure. The skin looked almost charred. The red eyes looked back at you from a charred face, the lips pulled back into a menacing smile with rows of sharp teeth. The figure was slim and androgynous in appearance. You saw nothing that would distinguish it as either sexually male or female. It was like one of the Ken dolls you’d had as a child.

Before the scream building in your throat could escape, your fingers managed to grab hold of the window latch and you pulled, opening the window. Instantly the wind blew in, the sound of rain intensifying and blowing into the open space. You tried to turn and climb out the window but the figure moved at an impossible speed.

The window was shut, all wind gone as the figure slammed you against the wall beside the window, hand closed around your throat. “This isn’t a game,” it growled in your face, breath hot against your skin. “You summoned me, whether intentional or not,” it hissed. “And I’ve come to collect.”

‘Collect?’

Fear filled your senses, spreading throughout your body and to the tips of your fingers and toes.

“C-collect?” you gasped, clawing at the hand around your neck. “Yes,” the figure snapped. Without warning, it tossed you onto the bed easily and was on top of you as you bounced on the mattress.

“C-collect what?” you coughed. “My soul?”

The demon tilted its head again only this time much faster, so fast you barely registered it except for the cracking sound that accompanied it. “I don’t want your soul,” it growled. You winced as it leaned in, sniffing your cheek before you felt its warm, wet tongue lick a stripe up the side of your face. You tried to push it away but the demon was much stronger.

“You can’t fight me off,” he laughed cruelly.

You felt your throat close up, tears burning at the corners of your eyes as the monster pinned you against the bed. “Please,” you whimpered. “What do you want from me?”

The demon chuckled again, the sound just as jarring. “I want your energy,” it answered.

You turned your face to look up at it in the dark, it’s red eyes boring into yours. “Energ-gy?”

“Your sexual energy,” it added. Your stomach churned at the thought. ‘No way. Absolutely not.’

You shook your head in agreement with your thoughts. “No,” you said defiantly.

The demon laughed, caging you in with its arms against the mattress. “I figured you’d say that,” it said, taking your face in its clawed hand. You stared up, raw fear pumping in your veins as your eyes met. You watched in both shock and horror as the charred skin of the demon melted away to reveal an all too familiar face.

You managed to push the demon off you and scramble off the bed towards the window as the demon stood up. You cowered away, your back up against the wall. “J-Joshua?”

The figure standing in your bedroom smiled at you, flashing a pair of perfect teeth. “Wh-what the hell?”

The demon started to pace back and forth, keeping its eyes trained on you. “What do you think?” it asked. “Looks just like him, right?” You stared in awe. “Or would you believe me if I told you I am Joshua?”

You shook your head quickly. “That’s not possible,” you croaked, your voice hoarse. the demon laughed and instead of the cruel, jarring sound, it was Joshua’s laugh. The one you’d heard countless times in Pandora’s Box as you told him a joke. The smile was the same one he gave you when he caught you staring at him from across the shop.

The same knowing smirk.

You shook your head again. “You’re not Joshua,” you answered. “You’re just messing with me!”

The demon tilted its head again. “That’s where you’re wrong,” it said in a low, menacing tone.

“Let me show you something,” it said, raising one hand and with a snap of its fingers, the lamps in your room came on. You looked around quickly before your eyes landed back on the demon.

“Is that it?” you asked. “I thought you were going to like, snap us to the shop or something,” you added.

The demon’s smile fell and its eyes narrowed.

“You want to go to the shop?” it asked. You nodded. “That’s where he lives,” you said. “The real Joshua!”

The demon sighed and rolled its eyes before standing up straight. “Get dressed,” it said, moving towards the door. You hesitated as it opened the bedroom door. Sensing you weren’t going to move, the demon stopped. “Get dressed,” it ordered again. “I’ll prove it to you.”

You pulled on a pair of sweats and a hoodie before heading out of your bedroom. It was surreal to see the demon masquerading as Joshua in your living room. You slowed to a stop as it walked around, looking around your house. “Nice place,” it said with a smirk. “How come you’ve never invited me here before?” he asked with a mocking tone. You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest.

Taking that as a cue you weren’t going to talk, the demon led the way to the door. “Shoes,” it said as it unlocked the deadbolt and looked at you. “We’re going to the shop.”

The walk down the deserted streets at night was eerie enough but the fact that a demon masquerading as your coworker was walking beside you as if nothing was wrong made it even more uncanny. The walk to the shop took no time at all and soon, you were walking up to the front door.

The demon produced a set identical to Joshua’s keys and unlocked the door. You led the way to the back where the door leading up to the steps was already open. You hurried up the steps to the top landing but before you could knock, the door opened and you fell into Joshua’s arms.

“Close the door!” you gasped, scrambling to shut the door behind you and lock it.

You looked up into the concerned brown eyes of your coworker. “Y/N,what’s wrong?” he asked. “It’s the middle of the night and it’s storming.” You glanced down to find your clothes were indeed wet but on your walk, you didn’t remember it raining. Though you did remember it raining when you were back in your bedroom.

“Here,” Joshua said, letting go of you and heading to the wardrobe that stood between the bathroom and the nightstand. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

You followed him, glancing around quickly. Nothing seemed out of place in the apartment. Joshua pulled out some clothes, holding up the large tee shirt. “This should fit,” he said softly. “It’s not my size.” He pulled out a pair or shorts as well, holding them up to inspect.

Once he’d found something that might fit, he handed them to you and directed you to the bathroom where you changed quickly. Out in the other room, Joshua was heating up a pot of water. He looked up as you approached. “Let me throw these in the dryer,” he offered, taking your clothes from you.

Once he put them in the dryer and poured you a hot cup of tea, you sat at the kitchen island, trying to come up with an explanation as to why you were there. What reason could you possibly have for coming to his place in the middle of the night.

‘I accidentally summoned a demon that wants to collect my sexual energy and it looks just like you.’

He’d call the cops faster than you could finish getting the words out.

Frustrated, you lowered your head and fought the urge to cry, your shoulders shaking. Joshua rounded the island and sat next to you, placing an arm around your shoulders. “Hey, hey,” he said softly. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.” You turned to face him, startling him.

“No one is safe,” you said softly. Joshua’s eyes searched your face. “What?” he said quietly.

“There’s…” your voice quivered as you hesitated. “There’s a demon.”

As soon as the words left your lips, the serious look on Joshua’s face morphed into a smile. “Oh Y/N, please,” he scoffed. “You know, you really are something,” he said, getting to his feet. You watched as he walked back around to his empty cup and moved to put it in the sink.

You got up and ran over to him. “Please, Joshua,” you pleaded. “I’m not messing around!”

When he didn’t respond, you tried to grab his hand. The moment your skin touched his you jerked back with a yelp. Almost like you’d been burned. ‘What the…’

You looked up from his hand to his profile. He slowly turned his head, eyes boring into yours. The brown eyes you’d looked into before were replaced with yellow irises, the sclera no longer white but red. The same eyes you’d seen in your bedroom. Your heart sank as Joshua slowly advanced on you.

“No,” you whimpered, a soft sob escaping you. You tried to run but the demon was quick, grabbing your arm and dragging you over to the counter, trapping you between its body and the kitchen island. “Stop!” you screamed, pushing against its hard chest. “Let me go!”

“I told you,” it said in the voice of Joshua. “I told you I am Joshua.”

You shook your head. “It’s not possible,” you sobbed, tears falling down your cheeks.

The demon took your face in both its hands gently. “I wasn’t lying. I am Joshua. Joshua is me.”

You glanced up to meet the fiery gaze once more. Behind the yellow and red eyes was a sincerity you hadn’t expected to see. The demon wasn’t trying to trick you. “H-how?” you hiccuped.

“How what?” he asked. “Did you not find it odd that I seemingly haunted every dream and waking thought of yours?” he asked. “Or how Mrs. Briggs didn’t recognize me?” You looked up at him. “Are you even related to Bill?” you asked softly. Joshua chuckled and shook his head. “Bill doesn’t have any siblings,” he answered.

“Why are you here?” you asked suddenly. “In this town. Why are you here?”

Joshua tilted his head. “Do you remember the night Bill passed away?” he asked, nodding when you shook your head. “It was a couple days before Halloween,” Joshua started to explain. “A couple of teenagers were out at the old covered bridge messing around with a ouija board.”

You listened as he told the story of the teens and how they inadvertently summoned him, bringing him to the town. That night, after they summoned the demon, they ran, leaving behind the Ouija board. Bill was driving home from the shop and had to cross that old wooden bridge. 

As he started to cross, Joshua explained how he appeared, causing Bill to swerve and plow through the side of the bridge and down into the ditch below. It wasn’t full but because there had been a lot of rain the past few nights, the ditch had been flooded more than usual and because Bill’s car landed upside down, he drowned.

As Joshua finished his tale, you covered your mouth in shock.

“And that little figure you took home,” he continued. “Why would I give you a random gift like that?” he asked. “I wanted you to have it. I wanted you to find the incantation. I wanted you to say it, knowing you were curious and had a proclivity for reading out random words you see,” he added.

Everything he was saying so far added up. Your dreams about him, your fantasies, your attraction, everything was caused by him. “Why did you need an incantation?” you asked suddenly, looking up to meet his gaze. “I wanted you before that.”

Joshua shook his head. “I’m a demon,” he explained. “I have rules and rituals to abide by.” 

The realization dawned on you. 

“That’s why you stopped the other night,” you said softly as it all fell into place. “Because you can’t just have sex with whoever you want?” Joshua nodded. “There has to be a binding incantation,” he explained. “Which is what you read off tonight.”

You swallowed thickly. “Which means…”

You felt one of his hands moved to your hip. “Which means, we have to have sex,” you continued.

Joshua nodded, leaning in and nuzzling your cheek. “Exactly,” he said in a low, husky voice. “But if we have sex,” you said suddenly, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back. “Doesn’t that mean you have to leave?”

Joshua tilted his head questioningly. “Why would I leave?” he asked softly.

“When I have a shop to run.”

Without letting you say another word, Joshua took your lips in a searing kiss, his free hand moving up your back and pulling you into him. “I said that incantation binds me to you,” he murmured, lips ghosting over your skin. “I never said anything about having to leave. I’m bound to you now.”

Your knees almost buckled as you felt his teeth graze against the skin of your neck. “I’m yours,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “And after tonight,” he continued, trailing kissing back up until his lips were against your ear. “You’ll be mine.”

You pulled him in for a heated kiss, leaning against the counter as one of your legs moved to wrap around his waist. Joshua leaned into the kiss, parting your lips and sliding his hot tongue into your mouth, muffling your moans.

You whined as he pulled away, slowly kissing down your neck to your collar before taking the hem of the shirt you were currently wearing and tugging it up, pulling the shirt off over your head. “Good girl,” he murmured, taking in your topless form. 

His hands were back on you in a second, lips trailing kisses down your collar and between your breasts. As he lowered himself to his knees, he made quick work of the shorts you were wearing, pulling them along with your panties down your legs before taking one of your thighs and lifting it over his shoulder.

You watched as he planted light kisses along the inside of your thigh, stopping just short of your aching heat. One of your hands braced yourself against the counter, the other moving down to tangle in his hair as he placed a kiss just above your clit before shifting between your thighs, pushing them further apart.

Your head fell back as you slipped to rest your forearm against the counter again as you felt Joshua’s tongue glide through your folds, brushing your clit lightly. Light teasing licks turned into heavy laps until he pulled back, his chin already covered in your essence. “Bed,” was the only word he uttered.

You were there faster than you could process, your head spinning with arousal as you leaned back against the sheets. Joshua had stripped himself of his shirt in the short distance from the kitchen to the bed and was lowering himself to kneel as you parted your thighs.

He fell onto the mattress, arms wrapping around your thighs and pulling your pussy closer to his face.

You moaned, head falling into the pillows as you felt his tongue back on your clit. He teased and toyed with the bud, not really falling into a rhythm. Instead he was merely taking his time and learning your body. Twice you felt the tip of his tongue dip down to your hole, pushing into it as his nose bumped against your clit. You felt the vibration of his groans against your sex, your walls tightening around the end of his tongue.

Just when you thought he was going to pull away, it was as if his tongue grew, entering you fully and filling your cunt. “Oh shit,” you cursed, fingers tightening in his hair as your free hand gripped the sheets beneath you tightly.

He only pushed his tongue into you a few times before pulling back. You raised your head wearily to see him licking his lips. “Already so fucked out?” he asked with a chuckle. He didn’t give you the opportunity to respond as he pushed two fingers into your cunt, watching your face as your lips parted in a silent moan.

Your eyes rolled back as he started to slowly pump his fingers in and out of you.

“That’s it,” he cooed as he curled his fingers, brushing against the soft spongy spot that had your toes curling. “You like that?” he asked, mildly amused by the response you were giving him despite him doing the bare minimum. “Yes!” you gasped as he continued to finger you. “F-fuck!” you swore. “Don’t stop!”

Joshua continued to watch your face as you writhed in pleasure under him. “Like that?” he asked, angling his hand so his fingers reached even further. “Yes! J-just like that!” Joshua leaned down, lips moving against yours, a mix of tongues, spit, and moans but you weren’t sure whose moans they were.

Joshua pulled away, keeping his eyes on your face as he sped up the pace. “Just like that?”

You nodded quickly, your body starting to shake as your orgasm approached but before it could crash over you, Joshua withdrew his hand. You whined at the loss of contact, making Joshua chuckle. “You’re falling asleep,” he noted. You pouted at him. “Don’t care,” you murmured.

Joshua tilted his head curiously. “Are you giving me permission to fuck you while you’re sleeping?” he asked. You nodded. It felt too good and you were so close you’d do just about anything to cum. “Yes,” you answered. “Feels s’good.”

Joshua chuckled against your skin, leaving feathery kisses against your cheek. “As you wish,” he said softly, gently rolling you onto your stomach. You felt his hands push your thighs apart and shuddered as you felt something hot and wet against your hole.

You assumed it was his tongue until it pushed into your cunt and you groaned into the pillows. It was most certainly not his tongue. “Wh-what’s that?” you murmured. You felt one of Joshua’s hands caress your cheek. “Shh, angel,” he said softly and you almost laughed at the irony of it.

A demon calling you angel.

You tried to lift your head to look back but it was too dark. “It’s okay,” you heard him purr in your ear. “Just go to sleep,” he added.

Your cheek fell back against the sheets as sleep started to take over your form. You felt whatever was inside you probing around and a sudden thought hit you. “Is that a tentacle?” you murmured, your voice partially muffled. Joshua chuckled, again in your ear as he leaned over you. “Yes,” he answered.

“It is.”

That snapped you awake. “Hng,” you grunted as the tentacle started to thrust in and out of you. “W-wait a second,” you whined. “I thought you…” you trailed off as Joshua halted his movement. “What’s wrong, baby?” he whispered. “I wanted your…” your words failed you again.

“You have to use complete sentences,” Joshua cooed in your ear. “I wanted your cock,” you finally whined. Joshua chuckled, the tentacle in you starting to slowly thrust. “Don’t worry sweetheart,” he replied. “You’ll get that, too.”

Your cheeks burned as the tentacle continued to pump into your pussy, gently bumping your cervix with each thrust. You felt another warm wet appendage against your ass and tried to reach behind you but Joshua managed to catch both hands and pin them to the bed.

“Shhh,” he murmured. “Just relax for me. Can you do that, angel?”

You moaned into the sheets as the second tentacle pushed into your ass, carefully stretching you open. Your fingers gripped the sheets tightly as the tentacle stopped, settling in your ass as the one in your pussy continued to move. The sensation was unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

“That’s my good girl,” Joshua whispered into your ear as the tentacle in your ass slowly started to move, setting an asynchronous pace to the first tentacle and soon both were thrusting into you. It wasn’t enough to build up an orgasm but it was enough to drive you insane.

You wanted more. You needed more.

You moaned into the pillows as the tentacles increased speed. “That’s it baby,” Joshua cooed. “You’re doing so well for me.” You were aware that the sheets were no doubt covered in your arousal and that a mess was being created between your thighs.

Joshua didn’t seem to mind. Without another word, the tentacles withdrew leaving you feeling empty. You let out a tiny yelp as Joshua wrapped an arm around your hips, pulling your ass up before taking one of the pillows and tucking it under your raised hips.

You moaned as he ran his hands over your ass, crying out when you felt him land a blow against the skin. He repeated this again, rubbing his hand over the spot each time. “Of course,” he murmured, more to himself than anything else. “Of course you’d like that, you little slut.”

You moaned at the degrading name, whimpering when you felt him push two fingers into your heat again. “I supposed you’re ready,” he added. Your body burned in anticipation as you felt the bed move. You had neither the energy or will to look and see what was happening but it didn’t matter.

As quickly as Joshua disappeared, he was back, kneeling behind you and spreading your cheeks with his hands. “Such a pretty little pussy,” he growled. “And it’s all mine.”

You moaned in response as he spit onto your waiting hole. The next thing you felt was the tip of his cock brushing against you. “I’m going to ruin this little pussy,” he growled in your ear. “Make it so mine is the only cock you can take.”

You whimpered as you felt his teeth dig into your shoulder before he straightened back up. You felt the head of his cock as it pushed slowly into you and suddenly, you knew why he prepped you with the tentacles beforehand.

Inch by inch, Joshua slid into you. Your body shook as your cunt stretched to accommodate his girth. As he bottomed out, you shuddered, walls clenching and unclenching around him. “So warm,” he breathed. “M’gonna wreck you,” he added, taking your hips in both hands before slowly drawing his cock out until just the tip was still inside you.

Without warning, he snapped his hips forward, making you scream into the pillows as he pushed all of his cock into you at once. The first few thrusts were the hardest but as he fell into a steady rhythm, the stinging pain was replaced with a dull ache. You could already feel your juices starting to roll down your thighs, no doubt mixed with sweat as Joshua pounded into you from behind.

You could feel the tip of his cock hit your cervix with each stroke. You cried out as he slammed into you.

He hovered over you, one hand on the mattress next to you and the other holding your hip. “You take cock so well, baby,” he growled. “It’s like you were made for this.”

You moaned loudly, tears and spit staining the pillow your face was currently buried in. Joshua grabbed the pillow and tossed it aside. “I want to hear you,” he rasped, hips hitting your ass as he thrust into you. “Wanna hear you scream for me and I split you open.”

Your cries filled the room with each slam of his hips, the sound of skin hitting skin the only other sound to be heard. Your fingers dug into the sheets, trying to ground yourself from the onslaught of his hips. “Mine,” you heard him growl. It was almost animalistic. As if to seal his claim, you cried out as you felt his teeth sink into your shoulder. The stinging pain of your shoulder combined with the feeling of his cock repeatedly dragging against your walls raw sent you over the edge and you came with a whimper, falling limp as he continued to fuck you.

More tears spilled as Joshua moved, his hips never faltering. “M’gonna fuck you so good,” he grunted. “Fuck you like you deserve. Fuck you until you’re full of nothing but my cum. Turn you into my own cum dumpster like the good little slut are.”

The sound of his almost angelic voice saying all those dirty things had your mind reeling as your second orgasm built up quickly, a low, deep moan escaping you as you came for a second time. “Such a good little girl,” he chuckled. His chest pressed against your back as he buried his cock fully inside you, pinning you to the mattress.

“You want that? You want me to fill you up? You want me to breed you?”

You moaned, hips pushing back against him, urging him to move again.

When he did it was fast and unforgiving. His thrusts were erratic. “Fuck,” he growled, his voice hitting a low you didn’t think possible. “Stay down,” he added, pinning you to the mattress as he pushed himself up with one hand. “Yeah,” he continued when you obeyed him. “Just like that.”

You felt his cock twitch and throb in your pussy, your walls fluttering around him as another orgasm washed over you. You’d lost count at this point how many you had but Joshua was nearing his own and you were left at his mercy as he chased his high, hips slamming into you as he growled and cursed in a language you didn’t understand.

As he finally started to come undone, he thrust once, twice, thrice more before burying his cock deep in your walls as he came, teeth sinking into your skin once more, marking you as thick ropes of his hot cum painted your walls and filled your cunt until it started to spill out.

You panted, breathing heavily against the sheets, ignoring the drool on your chin. Joshua shuddered as the last of his cum spilled into you. He let out one final groan before stilling completely. Your eyes fluttered shut as you heard him whisper into your ear but what he said you weren’t sure.

Everything faded to black.

You woke with a start and opened your eyes, sunlight filtering into your room and blinding you.

You groaned as you tried to roll over but your limbs were heavy and sore. It took more strength than usual to roll over. As you did, you caught sight of the alarm clock next to your bed but something was wrong.

It was on the opposite side. You lifted your head and stared at the alarm clock. The red numbers told you that it was just after nine in the morning. That was when you noticed the wall. It wasn’t your wall. You started to push yourself up, peering down at the sheets. They weren’t your sheets.

Just where the hell were you?

You sat up and looked around. This wasn’t your place.

Your gaze continued over the familiar surroundings but it wasn’t until it landed on a figure in the kitchen that everything clicked.

He smiled as he walked over carrying two plates and a mug of coffee.

You watched as he sat on the edge of bed, setting the coffee on the side table next to you before setting one of the plates in your lap. “Morning,” he said cheerfully, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “You seemed pretty tired last night,” he added. “So I let you sleep in.”

You looked around as you tried to process what waking up at his place meant. Did you two…?

Memories from the night before flashed before your eyes.

The demon in your room, showing up at Joshua’s place, the sex. You raised a hand up to your mouth as you realized what actually happened last night. You looked over at Joshua as he ate his own plate of pancakes. “Did we…?” you whispered looking up to meet his gaze. His eyes, which were brown, momentarily flashed red, and you knew instantly.

“We did indeed, doll,” he answered, returning his gaze to his plate.

“And you’re…?” Joshua nodded, looking up. “Yep. I’m a demon,” he answered nonchalantly.

“But I’m your demon,” he added. Your cheeks burned as he smirked at you.

“So I was thinking,” he continued to speak.

“Maybe we could move in together.”

You stared at him as he spoke. “I mean, since we’re bound to each other for eternity now, it just makes sense, you know?”

Your heart hammered in your chest, blood pounding in your ears. ‘Move in together?’

“And if we live together, we can have sex like every night.”

‘For eternity?’

“It would be perfect. It’s stupid for us to be apart anyway.”

You looked down at your plate as your pulse sped up.

‘What the hell have I done?’

ⓘ Graphics made by me. Content and support banners made using a template by cafekitsune. I do not allow reposts, translations, or continuations of my works. All writing and graphics are ©️ kwanisms.

[jaeyunluvbot]

white winter hymnal

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 childhood friends to lovers, best friends to lovers, christmas fic, hyunjin x reader

word count 𝟅𝟈 5.5k

NOT PROOFREAD

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Snow falls gently on the quiet streets of your neighborhood, covering everything in a soft white blanket. As you pull into the familiar driveway of your childhood home, a wave of nostalgia hits you, warm and comforting despite the cold outside. You turn off the car engine, exhaling a breath that fogs up the windshield for a moment before fading.

“Home sweet home,” you mutter to yourself, reaching for your phone to text your mom. But before you can even unlock it, the front door swings open, and she steps out, bundled up in a thick coat and scarf.

 “Y/N! You’re finally here!” she calls, her voice pierces the silence of the evening. “Welcome back, sweetheart!”

You grin and push the car door open, stepping out and stretching your stiff limbs. “Hey, Mom! It feels so good to be back.”

You move to the trunk to start unloading your bags, but before you can even pop it open, your mom gestures toward the house next door with an unmistakable twinkle in her eye. “Hyunjin’s mom just called. She said he’s coming over to help you unload.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Oh, Hyunjin’s coming over?” you say, trying to sound casual as if the thought doesn’t make your pulse quicken.

“Yes, dear. We can’t let a girl like you do all the heavy lifting, Hyunjin’s strong,” your mom says, giving you a look that’s both amused and knowing.

Before you can reply, you see him—Hyunjin—jogging across the yard, bundled up in a black coat and a knitted beanie that nearly covers his ears. The sight of him stirs something inside you, a mix of memories and an undeniable awareness of how much he’s changed. He’s taller, leaner, more confident in the way he moves. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, and there’s that same spark in his eyes you remember.

“Y/N!” he calls out, his voice effortlessly carrying through the frosty air. “Welcome back!”

“Hey, Hyunjin,” you respond, trying to keep your cool even though your heart is pounding a little faster than it should. It’s been a year or two since you last saw him, but it feels like both a lifetime and a moment. The two of you had kept up with each other through the occasional text or instagram reel, but nothing compares to talking to him in person.

He jogs up beside you, grinning. “Your mom said you might need some help with all this.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle a few bags,” you say, raising an eyebrow at him. The playful banter feels familiar, comfortable, like an old friend.

“Oh, I’m sure you could, but where’s the fun in that?” he teases, already opening the trunk before you can argue.

You fall into an easy rhythm, hauling out suitcases and bags together. There’s a quiet comfort in the way you work side by side, the silence broken only by the soft crunch of snow underfoot. You steal a quick glance at him and catch him doing the same. He smiles when your eyes meet, and it’s a smile that feels like home.

As you carry the last bag inside, the warmth of your house envelops you, and you’re greeted by the smell of cookies wafting from the kitchen. Your mom has already set out two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the table, and you can’t help but smile.

Hyunjin sits across from you, his hands wrapped around the mug, and you catch him glancing at you again. There’s something almost unreadable in his gaze, something that makes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s missed you as much as you’ve missed him.

“Welcome home,” he says softly, and for a moment, the noise of your mom fussing about the kitchen fades away.

Hyunjin sits across from you, his hands wrapped around the mug, and you catch him glancing at you again. There’s something almost unreadable in his gaze, something that makes you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he’s missed you as much as you’ve missed him.

“Welcome home,” he says softly, and for a moment, the sound of your mom fussing about the kitchen fades away.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Later on in the evening, Hyunjin had gone home to help his mom with dinner, leaving you alone to unpack and settle back in. 

You’d just finished unpacking the last of your things, stretching your arms above your head with a satisfied sigh. The room is just how you left it—posters slightly crooked, books crammed onto shelves in no particular order. Nostalgia hums quietly in the background, but it’s interrupted by the buzz of your phone on the desk.

Hyunjin: Hey. Meet me outside in 10. Dress warm.

You blink at the screen, reading the message twice before smiling to yourself. Typical Hyunjin.

Quickly pulling on your coat, scarf, and gloves, you head downstairs, letting your parents know you’ll be out for a bit. The cold night air greets you as you step onto the porch, and sure enough, Hyunjin is standing at the edge of your driveway, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

“There you are,” he says, grinning as you approach. His breath forms little clouds in the air. “I thought you’d take longer.”

“I’m a pro at getting ready,” you quip, falling into step beside him as he starts walking. “What’s this about? Late-night strolls are new for us.”

He shrugs, his gaze fixed ahead. “Thought it’d be nice. Plus, I figured you could use a break after all that unpacking.”

You give him a sideways glance. “And how would you know I was unpacking?”

He grins sheepishly. “My mom might’ve mentioned it. She said you brought half of your dorm home, and with all the bags I just carried in, I believe it.”

“That sounds about right,” you say with a laugh, kicking at the snow as you walk.

The neighborhood is quiet, save for the occasional sound of wind chimes or the distant bark of a dog. Holiday lights twinkle on every porch, and the air smells faintly of firewood.

“Everything feels smaller,” you say after a moment. “The houses, the streets. Even the park back there.”

Hyunjin nods. “It always does after you’ve been away for a while. But it’s nice coming back, isn’t it?”

You hum in agreement. “Yeah, it is. I missed this.”

He glances at you, his expression soft. “I missed it, too. And... you.”

The words hang in the air between you, your breath hitching slightly. You look at him, but his eyes are focused ahead, almost trying to avoid your curious gaze.

“Me?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

He shrugs again, but this time, it’s slower. “Yeah. It’s weird not having you around all the time. We grew up practically glued at the hip.”

A smile tugs at your lips. “We did, didn’t we? It’s crazy how quickly things change.”

“Too quickly,” he murmurs.

For a moment, the silence between you is heavier, but not uncomfortable. It feels like there’s more he wants to say, but instead, he points ahead. “Look. The Petersons’ house is as over-the-top as ever.”

You laugh, grateful for the shift in tone. The Petersons’ house is practically glowing with lights, their yard full of inflatable reindeer and a massive Santa that waves.

“It’s like Santa threw up in their yard,” you say. “They outdo themselves every year.”

As you walk past the house, Hyunjin lightly bumps your shoulder with his. “You always hated their decorations, didn’t you?”

“Only because it kept me awake every night,” you reply back, grinning softly. “That Santa’s wave haunted me.”

He laughs, and the sound fills the cold air, warm and familiar. It feels like you’re stepping back into something you hadn’t realized you’d missed so much.

“You’re still the same,” he says suddenly, his voice quieter.

“So are you,” you reply, your gaze lingering on him for a second too long.

The snow begins to fall again, tiny flakes catching in his hair and on his lashes. You want to say more, but the words don’t come. Instead, you keep walking, side by side, the world around you shimmering with light and the unspoken connection between you.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The next morning, you’re halfway through a lazy breakfast when your mom pokes her head into the kitchen. “Y/N, can you do me a favor?”

You look up from your cereal, already suspicious of her tone. “What kind of favor?”

Her eyes twinkle with that all-too-familiar mischievous glint. “Oh, nothing major. Just a few things for the Christmas party. Hyunjin’s mom needs him to run some errands too, so I thought you two could go together. You know, for old times’ sake.”

You almost laugh at how thinly veiled the attempt is. “You mean for the sake of your matchmaking dreams?”

She gasps, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before you can protest further, the doorbell rings. You know who it is even before you hear your mom call out, “Hyunjin’s here!”

“Of course he is,” you mutter, dragging yourself to the door.

Hyunjin stands on the porch, bundled up against the cold, a sheepish grin on his face. “Guessing you got roped into this too?” he asks as soon as he sees you.

You nod, stepping outside and pulling the door shut behind you. “It’s painfully obvious what they’re trying to do.”

He laughs, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “At least they’re consistent. My mom’s been dropping hints about us since... forever.”

“Same,” you say, rolling your eyes. “It’s like they think we’re characters in one of their Hallmark movies.”

“Hey, at least we get to be the leads,” he teases.

You snort, nudging him as you both head toward his car. “Don’t push it, Romeo.”

The errands are as mundane as you expected: picking up extra lights from the hardware store, stopping by the bakery for a custom cake, and running to the craft store for holiday napkins that “perfectly match the theme.”

But somehow, with Hyunjin, even the mundane feels fun.

At a quaint bakery in town, you both lean against the counter, watching as the clerk boxes up an elaborately decorated cake.

“I bet our moms coordinated this whole list,” you say. “Like, they probably had a meeting about it.”

“Oh, 100%,” Hyunjin agrees. “I can hear them now: ‘We’ll just casually send them out together. They won’t suspect a thing.’”

You both dissolve into laughter, earning a confused glance from the clerk.

At the craft store, you end up in the aisle of holiday decorations, where Hyunjin holds up a ridiculous elf hat and grins. “This would look great on you.”

You snatch it out of his hands and plop it onto his head instead. “Much better,” you say, snapping a quick photo before he can stop you.

“Delete that,” he groans, trying to grab your phone.

“Never,” you reply, laughing as you dodge him.

By the time you finish the errands and return home, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. As you carry the bags inside, your mom gives you a knowing look.

“Thanks for helping, sweetheart,” she says, far too sweetly.

You glance at Hyunjin, and he raises an eyebrow, clearly thinking the same thing you are: They’re not even subtle about this.

Later, as you sit in your room scrolling through your phone, a text from Hyunjin pops up.

Hyunjin: They’re relentless. At this rate, they’re going to plan our wedding.

You: It’ll be a Christmas wedding, obviously. They’d probably insist on matching reindeer sweaters for the bridal party.

Hyunjin: Please stop. I can hear my mom getting ideas already.

You laugh to yourself, the conversation warming you more than it probably should.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

A few days later, as you’re scrolling aimlessly on your phone, a text from Hyunjin lights up your screen.

Hyunjin: You free? Found something you need to see.

You: Define ‘need.’

Hyunjin: Just come over. Promise it’s worth it.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and within five minutes, you’re bundling up and heading next door. His mom greets you with a warm smile as she opens the door. “He’s up in his room,” she says, her tone far too innocent. You roll your eyes playfully, but thank her before heading upstairs.

You knock lightly on Hyunjin’s door, and he calls out, “Come in!”

His room is a mix of nostalgia and newness. The posters from high school are gone, replaced by a cleaner, more mature vibe, but the faint scent of his favorite candles lingers, making it feel familiar.

He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, a pile of Christmas decorations scattered around him. In his hands is a tattered, familiar-looking scrapbook.

“Recognize this?” he asks, holding it up with a grin.

Your breath catches. “Oh my god. I forgot about this.”

He flips it open to the first page, where a younger version of yourself had meticulously written, Happy Birthday, Hyunjin! Here’s a collection of all our best memories so far. Let’s keep making more!

“You gave me this right before we left for college,” he says, his voice softer now. “I found it in the attic when my mom sent me up to grab decorations.”

You sit down beside him, peering at the pages. The scrapbook is a chaotic mix of photos, doodles, ticket stubs, and handwritten notes. There’s a photo of the two of you at a school dance, another of a snowman you built in middle school, and a particularly terrible selfie from your first concert together.

“I can’t believe you kept this,” you say, your fingers brushing over a Polaroid of the two of you grinning, cheeks red, but you tell yourself it’s from the slight chill in his room.

“Of course I did,” he says. “It’s probably one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten.”

You glance at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. He’s not looking at the scrapbook anymore, he’s looking at you.

“It’s kind of crazy,” he continues, his voice almost hesitant. “Seeing all this again. It feels like... like we were different people back then, but also not really, you know?”

You nod, feeling a pang of nostalgia. “Yeah. I guess a lot’s changed, but this still feels... the same.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, flipping through the pages together. You laugh at the ridiculous inside jokes scribbled in the margins and cringe at your younger selves’ fashion choices.

As you reach the last page, where you’d written Here’s to all the memories we haven’t made yet, Hyunjin closes the scrapbook gently.

“I missed this,” he says quietly.

“Me too,” you admit, the words coming easier than you expected.

For a moment, the air feels heavier, charged with something unspoken. But before either of you can say anything more, his phone buzzes, breaking the spell.

“My mom’s calling me to help with dinner,” he says, standing up and offering you a hand. “But... we should do this again sometime. Catch up more.”

You take his hand, feeling the warmth of his grip linger even after you let go. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

As you walk back home, the scrapbook feels etched into your memory. And so does the way Hyunjin had looked at you—like maybe, just maybe he was thinking the same thing you were.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The following weekend, you find yourself standing in the cold, bundled in layers of scarves and gloves, alongside Hyunjin and your families. It’s your yearly tradition of volunteering at the local shelter, helping organize a Christmas dinner for families in need. You’ve done it for as long as you can remember, but this year, something feels... different.

Hyunjin stands next to you, sorting through a stack of plates. “How do they expect us to serve all this food without any organization?” he mutters under his breath, causing you to laugh quietly.

“You’re supposed to just serve,” you tease, nudging him with your elbow. “Not critique the whole system.”

He rolls his eyes, but there's a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m just saying—if they need help next year, I’ll take charge of the logistics.”

You shake your head, amused. “Sure, ‘Manager Hyunjin.’ That has a nice ring to it.”

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, working side by side, making jokes and occasionally slipping into comfortable silence. It’s moments like this that remind you how little has really changed between you two. The same easy camaraderie, the same shared glances and inside jokes.

Nearby, you spot your moms, standing together, watching the two of you with knowing smiles. They exchange a look, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by you or Hyunjin.

“You know,” Hyunjin says quietly, as if reading your mind, “I think they might be conspiring again.”

You glance over at your moms, who are now whispering to each other, clearly plotting something. You can’t help but laugh. “They’ve never stopped, have they?”

He shakes his head, looking a little amused. “Honestly, I think they might be living vicariously through us at this point.”

You laugh again, and the sound is comforting, like everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be. You work for a little longer, serving meals and cleaning up, until it’s time to gather everyone for the final round of Christmas cheer.

As you walk to the parking lot, Hyunjin’s hand brushes against yours. You both pause, and for a moment, it feels like time slows down just enough for you to realize how natural it feels to be here with him.

“You know,” he starts, his voice quieter this time, “I think this is my favorite tradition.”

You glance at him, surprised. “The volunteering?”

“Yeah. It’s always been special. But... this year feels different.” He looks at you for a moment, his gaze steady. “I think it’s because it feels like we’re making new memories together... even though we’ve done this a hundred times.”

You smile, your heart warming despite the cold air. “I feel the same way,” you admit, not realizing how long you’ve been holding that thought in.

His hand brushes against yours again, this time lingering for a second longer. It’s subtle, but it makes your heart race all the same.

At the same time, you both glance back to see your moms waving at you from the shelter entrance. They smile knowingly, their eyes twinkling with something close to victory.

You both roll your eyes at the same time, and Hyunjin laughs. “I guess they really are the masterminds behind this whole thing.”

“They always have been,” you reply, shaking your head with a smile. “But maybe... maybe they’re onto something.”

He meets your eyes, and for the first time in a long while, everything feels right. The air between you is charged with something more than friendship, more than nostalgia.

“Maybe,” he says quietly, the words lingering between you like a promise.

And just like that, the year’s tradition of volunteering becomes one of the many things that makes this Christmas special—and the beginning of something more.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The past few days have been a blur of holiday shopping and hanging out with your friends. Between helping your mom with decorating the house, attending the yearly family dinner with Hyunjin’s family, and all the last-minute gift shopping, you’ve barely had a moment to relax. You can hardly remember the last time you hung out with Hyunjin alone.

Today, you’re out with your closest friends, maneuvering through the crowded Christmas market, your arms full of shopping bags. Everyone is laughing, chatting about their own holiday plans, and teasing each other about secret gift exchanges.

"Y/N, I bet you're really excited for your secret Santa gift," your friend Giselle teases as she bumps your shoulder playfully. “Is it someone you’ve been eyeing all year?”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress a smile. "It’s just for fun. No big deal."

"Oh, come on," Karina grins. "We’ve all been watching the Will They or Won’t They drama unfold between you and Hyunjin. You can’t tell me it’s not obvious."

The others giggle, nudging you as you try to act unbothered. "It’s not like that," you protest, but your voice betrays you, sounding a little too unsure. “We’re just... friends.”

"Friends?" Giselle arches an eyebrow. "Then why are you getting him a really nice gift for Secret Santa this year? Before, it was just socks. And now you’re buying him something fancy?"

Your heart skips a beat, and you laugh awkwardly, trying to hide the sudden nerves bubbling in your chest. "I—well, I think my mom might’ve had a hand in it," you say, trying to dismiss it, but deep down, you’re starting to feel the weight of your own words. You are getting him something thoughtful. Something meaningful. The thought of it had come naturally when you walked through the aisles of the gift shop earlier today, but you hadn’t realized how it might look to your friends.

The girls share a knowing look, both smirking. “I think you like him,” Karina says in a teasing voice. "And don’t say you don’t, because everyone can tell."

You groan, running a hand through your hair. "It’s not like that, seriously. I just... I’ve known him forever, okay?"

“Right,” Giselle says, her tone sly. "And forever is exactly why it’s so obvious. You guys are so in sync, it’s like you’re reading each other’s minds half the time."

You try to change the subject, but as much as you want to ignore their teasing, you can’t help but think about how much you do miss him. You’re so caught up in the busy holiday season, you realize how little time you’ve spent with Hyunjin lately, you’ve hardly had a chance to sit down and just... talk.

Your mind drifts back to the scrapbook you’d looked through together the other night—the way he’d looked at you, the way everything felt so easy and familiar. You wonder, for the first time in a while, if maybe your feelings aren’t just from growing up with him, but something more.

Giselle leans in with a grin. “Just admit it, Y/N. You’re basically dating already.”

You laugh and roll your eyes again, but your heart races a little faster than usual. "We’re not dating. But we’ll see how things go."

“You should text him,” Karina suggests, poking your side. “Tell him you miss him. See what happens.”

You freeze, the idea making your heart leap in your chest. You hadn’t even realized until now how much you did miss him. "I’ll catch up with him later. We’ve both been busy."

But deep down, the thought lingers. Maybe it’s time to take a step forward. Maybe... it’s time for Hyunjin to know how you really feel.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The Christmas party is in full swing, the sounds of laughter and chatter filling the air as the warmth from the fireplace spreads through the room. Lights twinkle on the tree, and the scent of pine and cinnamon lingers in the air, adding to the cozy atmosphere. You’re dressed in a soft, red sweater, paired with jeans and your favorite boots. Your hair is styled loosely, and you feel like you’re glowing—until you step into the chaos of the party.

Every time you try to approach Hyunjin, the universe seems to conspire against you. First, it’s your aunt asking about your grades. “How’s college going, sweetie? I bet you’re acing everything, right?”

You smile politely, nodding. “It’s been a lot, but I’m getting through it. Thanks for asking.”

As soon as you manage to escape, you look for Hyunjin again. But before you can get more than a few steps, one of your mom’s friends stops you with a question about your childhood—another reminder of how long it’s been since you were a little kid. You try to stifle a sigh, smiling and answering, all while your eyes dart around the room, looking for a way out.

Every time you glance over, you find Hyunjin also caught in the same cycle—someone pulling him into a conversation about his latest art project or asking how his classes are going. The exasperation is clear on his face, and the two of you share a look over the room. His eyes widen slightly, an eyebrow quirked, as if to say, Really? Again? You can’t help but hold in a laugh, rolling your eyes in silent agreement.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of polite conversation with every other person in the room, it’s time for the Secret Santa exchange. You take a deep breath, thankful for a shift in the chaos, and take your spot in the circle.

A few people go first, exclaiming how thoughtful their gifts are and trying to guess who their Santa was, a challenge made much more difficult by the copious amounts of eggnog all the adults had been drinking throughout the evening. 

Eventually, it’s Hyunjin’s turn, and you watch raptly as he picks up the gift you’d gotten him. He carefully unwraps the packaging, and as soon as the paper is off, he reveals a leather-bound journal. His expression shifts to something softer as he runs his fingers over the cover. You can feel the anticipation bubbling in the room as everyone watches.

“Wow,” Hyunjin says, his voice quiet but sincere. “This is... perfect.”

You smile, pleased that he likes it. It’s nothing extravagant, but you knew he’d appreciate it—especially since he had mentioned wanting something to write in just a few weeks ago.

He correctly guesses that you were his Santa, the two of you having been paired up every year since, well, since forever.

“This is really thoughtful. Thanks, Y/N.”

Your heart skips, but you play it cool, smiling back. “I thought it would be something you’d actually use. I’m glad you like it.”

Hyunjin sets the journal aside for a moment as the others continue unwrapping their presents. The excitement in the room rises with each new gift, but something lingers in the air between you and him, a quiet awareness of each other.

Finally, it’s your turn to open your gift. You can’t deny you’re a little nervous, knowing Hyunjin was your Santa as well. The way he’s been acting around you lately has felt different, and now there’s this strange electricity in the air as you begin to unwrap it.

Inside, you find a delicate silver necklace, its pendant shaped like a tiny star. Your breath catches as you run your fingers over the smooth surface, knowing it’s the kind of thoughtful, sentimental gift Hyunjin would pick. You hadn’t expected something so beautiful, and your heart melts a little.

“You didn’t have to—”

“No, I wanted to,” he interrupts with a shy smile. “I’ve seen you wear something like it before, and I thought it’d be nice.”

You meet his eyes, a spark of warmth growing in your chest. But before you can say anything more, you notice a small folded note that had slipped out from under the necklace.

You glance down at it, feeling the familiar rush of nerves as you open it.

Meet me at the park later. I have something to say to you.

Your heart skips a beat. The note is short, to the point, and impossible to ignore. It’s just for you. Just from him.

The game continues as everyone takes their guesses, but you can’t stop thinking about the note, the quiet promise in it. You keep stealing glances at Hyunjin as the exchange goes on, but he keeps up the act, pretending like nothing is amiss. But there’s a certain glint in his eyes that makes you wonder just how much he’s been thinking about the tension building between the two of you.

Finally, after everyone has made their guesses, the gift exchange wraps up. Your heart is beating faster now, and you’re ready to leave, eager for some time alone with him.

As the guests begin to filter out, and the room starts to quiet down, you excuse yourself from the conversation with your mom’s friend and slip out the door, wrapping your coat around yourself.

The chill of the night air hits you, and you make your way toward the park, where you promised yourself you’d meet Hyunjin. You wonder what he has to say, your curiosity piqued. But more than that, you’re excited. Nervous, yes, but also eager to see what’s next.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The soft crunch of your footsteps on the snow is the only sound that fills the air as you approach the park. The cold night wraps around you, but it doesn’t matter, your heart is warmer than it’s ever been. You spot him, standing under the dim light of the lamppost, his figure a little more relaxed than earlier.

You can’t help but smile as you walk closer. Hyunjin looks up when he hears your approach, his eyes locking with yours instantly. A wave of emotions sweeps over you—anticipation, excitement, something deeper you’re not sure you’re ready to label yet.

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft, almost shy despite the fact you’ve known him for years.

“Hey,” he replies, his smile gentle. There’s something different in his gaze, something more than the easy camaraderie you’re used to. It feels like this is a moment that’s been coming for a long time, and now, finally, you’re here.

There’s a pause, just the two of you standing under the lamppost, the air heavy with unspoken words. Hyunjin takes a step forward, his hands slipping into the pockets of his coat.

“I meant what I said,” he begins, his voice quieter now, more serious than usual. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, about us. About how we’ve always just kind of... been there for each other. But I don’t think I really realized it until recently. I don’t want to just be friends anymore, Y/N. I want more.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, and you swallow, trying to process everything he’s saying. But it feels so right, like the final puzzle piece of your life has just been placed.

You take a step closer to him, the cold air no longer a factor as warmth spreads through your chest. “I want more too,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I think I always have, Hyunjin. But I... I didn’t want to ruin what we had, you know? I thought maybe it was just in my head.”

His lips curve into a small, tender smile. “You’re not the only one who thought that.” He reaches out, his hand brushing against yours, warm and steady. The simple touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, and you look up at him, meeting his gaze.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the wind in the trees and the quiet crackling of the snow beneath your feet. And then, as if the weight of everything finally lifts, Hyunjin leans in, his hand gently cupping your face.

“I don’t think we have to worry about ruining anything,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost like a secret. “Not anymore.”

Before you can even respond, he’s closing the gap between you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that feels like everything falling into place.

It’s gentle at first, a tentative exploration, like both of you are confirming this moment is real. But then, as the kiss deepens, you feel the heat of it—the longing, the years of friendship turning into something more. Something you’ve both been waiting for, even if you didn’t know it until now.

When he pulls back, your foreheads rest against each other, both of you breathing heavily. Your fingers are tangled in the fabric of his scarf, and you can’t stop smiling.

“You know,” you say, laughing softly, “our moms were right all along, weren’t they?”

Hyunjin grins, his eyes lighting up. “They always are, aren’t they?”

You both chuckle, the sound light and carefree, as if the pressure of everything that’s been building is finally released. Hyunjin’s arms wrap around you, pulling you into a hug, and you settle against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Guess we’ll have to admit it to them now,” he says, his voice muffled against your hair.

You snort, pulling away just enough to look up at him. “I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to figure it out.”

He shrugs, a mischievous grin on his face. “I think we needed the time. And the nudge from our mothers.”

You both laugh again, the sound echoing in the quiet park, and for the first time in a long while, everything feels right.

“Come on,” Hyunjin says, reaching for your hand. “Let’s go back before they start sending out search parties.”

You nod, the warmth of his hand in yours sending a new wave of happiness through you as you walk back through the park, your heart full of hope and something more—a feeling you both share now, unspoken but undeniable.

And for the first time, you don’t mind admitting it: Your moms were right.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

author's note ❆ i'm thinking about opening a permanent taglist for any new work i put out, so lmk if any of yall are interested in that!

masterlist.

[sorinethemastermind]

Choices & Masterminds

Corvus realizes something about Soren, and Terry gets a chance to know his girlfriend's family. #Sorvus #Clauderry

 Corvus was fairly certain they were walking into a trap. In fact, he was 99.9% sure of it. But he found that worry hard to voice when Soren was beaming the way he was, eyes hopeful and with that familiar pep back in his step for the first time in what felt like forever. So Corvus plodded along, keeping his concerns to himself, one hand resting nervously on the weapon at his side.

 The elf - Terry - seemed friendly enough. He and Soren had spent most of the trek so far chatting; mostly about Claudia. But wasn’t that exactly why you would send him to lure them into an ambush? And wasn’t talking about Claudia - who Soren missed so much - precisely the right kind of bait? And they didn't talk about the bad things; instead they chatted about the way she liked her hot brown morning potion, or how best to stop her from snoring, or her sense of humor. Not the fact that she had recently released an evil Startouch Titan from his prison and had probably doomed them all.

 No, why would they talk about that?

 But for every paranoid - he could admit that about himself, at least - and cynical thought he had, there was also another; one that Corvus could only call optimistic. Maybe Soren was rubbing off on him. Or maybe it was just that, if Soren could be hopeful after everything that had happened - everything he’d gone through - then Corvus had no excuse not to at least try to be. 

 And he had to admit that if Terry really loved Claudia this much, it made sense for him to be worried about Aaravos. And that he had been willing to risk his life to come and ask them for help. And Corvus could come up with no reason for him to do all of that just to fetch Soren unless he really did think that he was one of the few people that might be able to get through to Claudia. Especially not when, if it was a trap and that meant Aaravos knew where they were, he could have just shown up himself and dealt with all of them in one fell swoop while they were at their weakest.

 So Corvus tried to be a little optimistic. For Soren.

 “-and she’s so smart.” Terry was saying up ahead, Soren nodding along in agreement beside him. “And so strong. She’s such a powerful mage. Just like you’re a powerful warrior, from what I’ve heard. Your Dad must have been really proud.”

 Corvus saw Soren stiffen, his pace slowing for a fraction of a second before he continued on. “I guess. Maybe.” 

 Terry seemed to notice the drop in Soren’s voice, but misunderstood the reason. “I’m really sorry about your Dad. He was a great man.”

 Corvus quickened his own step to fall into place on Soren’s other side, reaching out and giving his hand a squeeze. Soren didn’t shift his gaze from the road ahead of him, but he squeezed Corvus’ hand back.

 “I don’t know if that’s true.”

 “Oh. Uh.” Terry seemed a little taken aback, unsure what to say. 

But the somber expression that had flitted across Soren’s face was gone as quickly as it had come. “But you know, he must’ve done something right to end up with Clauds and I!” he joked, and Terry let out a small laugh. 

 The moment passed. But Soren didn’t release Corvus’ hand. So he stayed in step with them; the three of them venturing further and further into the woods until the horizon - what little of it they could see through the trees, at least - was beginning to tinge pink with the first rays of sunlight.

 “We’re almost there.” Terry told them, jogging a few steps up the path ahead of them. 

 They followed, hesitant, suddenly aware of every twig crunching underfoot. Soren squeezed Corvus’ hand tighter, and Corvus bumped his shoulder into his partner’s, trying to offer what reassurance he could. Their footsteps slowed to a crawl as the trees began to thin, and Terry had to wave them forward to make Soren walk the last few steps to the clearing’s edge. 

 “Corvus?” Soren’s voice was barely even a whisper beside his ear. “Corvus, what if they’re all right? What if she’s gone?”

 Corvus turned to look at him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. “If anyone can get through to her, it’s you.”

 “But what if-”

 Corvus pushed down any doubts he had carried with him during their walk, releasing them and letting them go. He had been silly to think that Soren didn’t carry any misgivings; couldn’t tell the dangers of their situation. Of course he did. But he had chosen to believe anyway. Had chosen to believe there was a better way. 

 “Once,” Corvus began, realizing who Soren reminded him of. “there was a very brave king. And he said that history does not have to be a narrative of strength. It can be a narrative of love. He said that it was a choice. So we’re making that choice, right now. You’re making that choice. The right choice. You can get through to her. I know you can. All it takes is one choice, no matter how far you are down the wrong path, and you can turn around and walk back. You can choose another way.”

 “You sound like King Ezran.” 

 “Well, yes.” Corvus chuckled a bit, and Soren smiled. 

 “Thank you.” 

 “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

 “Yeah, well.” Soren shrugged, a joking smile playing across his lips. “I have been known to do some pretty stupid stuff.” 

 “I don’t think so.” Corvus said, reaching out to tap Soren’s forehead. “I think some people just don’t realize the mastermind at work up there.”

 “Are you in love with me or something?” Soren asked, leaning closer, and Corvus could feel his breath warm on his face.

 “Something like that.” he replied, closing what little space was left between them with a kiss. Soren pulled him in yet closer, hands tightening around his waist, and for a moment the forest vanished and it was just the two of them, together. 

 When they broke apart, Corvus could feel the flush on his face mirroring the one he saw on Soren’s cheeks.

 “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.” Soren laughed.

 “You’d better.” Corvus leaned in for one more quick kiss, then pushed him towards the clearing. “Now get on with it. You’ve had enough flattery for one evening.”

 Soren glanced back at him. “Thanks for coming.”

 “You couldn’t have stopped me if you tried.” Corvus said, trying to sound casual even as the words made his stomach flutter. 

 “Well. Thanks anyway.” Corvus watched as Soren followed Terry into the clearing, and he hoped. He hoped with all of him, with all the love and strength that Soren filled him with. 

 He hoped that Claudia would make the right choice.

[marlynnofmany]

Always Bring A Flashlight

“This delivery,” I said, trying to hold my feet stable on the uneven ground, “Would have been a great use for the hovercycle.”

“Yes it would,” Blip agreed. She pushed the hoversled along with me, having just as much trouble with the criss-crossing tree roots that made up what passed for a road here. Her clothes for today were the type that fit closely and displayed muscle, leaving her natural frills as the only things waving in the breeze. Or maybe they were waving with frustration.

Normally she and Blop would have done a delivery together, but he’d sprained his shoulder trying one of Wio’s impossible puzzleboxes. He knew full well those were meant for people with tentacles instead of arms. Now he was recuperating on the ship, while we pushed a sled full of packages over some very treacherous footing. No, I wasn’t bitter about that.

“Have we tried hooking the bike up to a sled before?” I asked, stepping over a python-sized root and walking down one the size of a playground slide. “I know it would take some quick work on the brakes to keep it from crashing into anything, and you’d need somebody to ride along and steer, but it seems doable.”

Paint piped up from where she was riding on the front of the sled. “Oh, like when we did that one rush delivery with you running and pulling it!”

I chuckled, slipping just a little. “Yep, like when I was a sled dog. But with less of a risk of spraining an ankle.”

Blip said, “Pretty sure Captain Sunlight declared it too risky for regular deliveries. The hovercycle’s for small packages, not whole piles.”

Paint clambered over the stack to look down at us. Her orange scales were bright in this foresty dimness. “But it’s all tied down so well.”

I craned my neck up. “Are those rated for sitting on?”

“Hm. Probably not.” She climbed back to the front where the brakes were. She was a little small to be of any help in pushing, but she made a good lookout.

Like now. “Hey, what’s that?”

I peered around the side of the package stack, but didn’t see anything other than giant trees and a ground covered in roots. Plus the occasional white marker attached to the trunks so offworld courier crews didn’t get desperately lost. It was all very shadowy and green. “Where?”

“There’s misty-looking stuff in the distance,” Paint reported. “Steam? Fog? Poison gas?”

Blip groaned. “I hope not.”

I thought back to the briefing for this location. “There wasn’t anything hazardous in the report. No predators of note either.”

“Good,” Blip said as the mist grew thick enough to spot in the shadows. “That means probably nothing will jump out at us when the visibility’s egg-dark.”

“Probably,” I agreed. “Are we still going to be able to see the pathway?” The white marker sticks were kind of far apart. I didn’t like our odds if we missed one.

“So far,” Paint said from the front of the sled.

We pushed on. The fog thickened faster than I expected, and I found myself struggling to make out the root shapes before I needed to step on or over them. “Paint? Are we going the right way?”

“I think so?” she said, a faint distressed blur in the darkness. “I don’t suppose either of you brought a light?”

“No.” I sighed. “Just my communicator, which isn’t going to do us much good.”

“I’ve got one!” Blip said, tugging at a pocket that I hadn’t realized was there. “It’s the kind that doesn’t make your eyes adjust, too.” With a quiet click, suddenly everything was vivid red.

“Ow,” I said on reflex.

“Perfect!” Paint exclaimed, setting the brakes and climbing over the boxes again. Her scales were as red as the boxes, though Blip looked black like the roots underfoot. While they handed the light off, I checked my own hand out of curiosity: red too, though not as bright as Paint.

“Twist it to adjust the focus!” Blip called. We were in shadow again, now that the light was on the other side of the stack.

“Got it,” Paint said. She fiddled with it for a moment, then sent a beam of red lancing into the mist with much less scattering in all directions. “That way! A little more to the left!”

Blip and I resumed pushing. We had to rely on Paint completely, but it worked.

She sounded delighted. “We’ll be there in no time! Onward!”

It was then that I realized what all this reminded me of, and I nearly fell over laughing. They of course demanded to know what was so funny.

“Another legend from my planet,” I said, wiping away tears. “Paint, I got to be Balto last time. You get to be the hero today!”

And then I sang Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer for my alien coworkers, and they were honored to be part of it.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[billiemillee]

JUST FRIENDS?

Roman Reigns x Fem!Reader | Masterlist

warning: angst, kissing

“We never were just friends and you know it”. She spoke those words in a tone that was both flat and yet filled with emotion, as if she knew this would be the last time they ever saw each other.

Roman tried to speak but nothing came out of his mouth. He wanted to say something. Anything! But there was no way he could come up with anything to counter her statement. The look on his face betrayed him. He couldn't believe what she had said, but he knew it must have been true because of how she had reacted. He didn't want to admit that her words hurt him, but he knew they did. They stung like a bee's sting in his heart and made him feel powerless.

She walked over to him, standing right next to him so close that their arms were touching. "I'm sorry Roman." Her voice was soft and gentle and the tears were gone from her eyes. "But I am not going back with you. There is too much at stake here for me. This world is my home now and I won't leave it behind"

He looked into her beautiful eyes, seeing them glistening wetly. He reached out and took hold of her hand. It felt so cold. So lifeless.

"Please don't go Y/n"

"I can't Roman. Not after what we shared. I've waited all these years for you to return to me. I even held onto hope that perhaps one day you would come back to me. And when you did I... I was happy. I was so very happy. But now everything has changed."

"How?"

"Because I love you Roman." She said it softly, but with all the meaning it deserved. "And I always will."

She kissed him on the cheek and then turned away from him. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she walked away. Roman stood there watching her until she disappeared around the corner. He wanted to call out to her but he knew he would lose her forever if he did.

It had been three days since Y/n left his side. Three long and agonizing days where he had to stay put and do nothing while watching her go. He hadn't slept well in three nights either. Every time he closed his eyes he pictured her beautiful face and warm smile. When he woke up in the morning he still felt empty inside, as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest and trampled underfoot.

On day two of her absence he received a text message from her. It told him she was safe and well and that she loved him. That was all he got, but at least she was alive. He had to believe that.

He sent her another message telling her how much he missed her and wished she were here with him, but he didn't receive any reply. He wondered whether she was too ashamed or too angry to respond. Either way it made him feel worse than ever before.

As the days went by and he saw no signs of her returning he became more and more depressed. His mind wandered aimlessly and he lost himself in thoughts of her. He wondered if her feelings for him had changed. He wondered why she would stay here when she could return to her home. He even started to wonder if maybe he had misread her signals and she really was straight after all.

Wrestlemania was coming up and he had a match against Cody Rhodes. It was set to take place in two weeks' time. He spent every spare moment training, trying to get back in shape after being injured. But it was hard. Training alone wasn't helping. He needed Y/n to push him past his limits. Even though she was gone he still thought about her. He imagined how it would be if they were together again and it gave him the strength to keep going.

A few days passed and Roman finally decided enough was enough. He couldn't stand the thought of Y/n leaving him here, just waiting for her to return. He had to find her, wherever she was staying. He had to see her again. He had to tell her how he felt. If only she'd sent another message saying she had changed her mind and that she wanted to come back to him.

That afternoon he left the hotel and went out on the streets of Brooklyn. He checked around the usual spots, but she wasn't there. He stopped by her apartment, hoping to find her there, but it was empty. He didn't know what to do. Where could she possibly be?

He eventually started to get angry. Why would she leave him like this? What had he done wrong? She had said she loved him. She had said she would wait for him. Was that all just talk? Did she secretly hate him the same way he hated himself?

His anger was short-lived. Soon his depression returned and he found it impossible to think clearly. He wandered the city aimlessly, seeing nothing and feeling nothing. He wanted to give up but he knew he couldn't….

[ririya-translates]

Miguel

In June 2023, Ishida posted a short story about Miguel from the Jack Jeanne winter play for Fumi's birthday. The original post includes a drawing and a music link to listen to as you read. I'm still just an amateur, but I did my best to translate it to English. I also tried to maintain the poetic Twitter short story structure as much as possible. (Note that this has both plot and character spoilers about the winter play)

Miguel, as a child on the prosperous Neshiromi Farm, Lived happily outside of Havenna.

Sowing seeds in hot summers and passing time through cold winters, Bore plentiful good fruit.

2. Neshiromi fruit, with its long-protected cultivation traditions, Boasted a mellow fragrance and refreshing sweetness. When trading with merchants from the northern cities, it would sell out in less than a few days.

3. Miguel loved his work. In the village, life was too busy to even notice boredom But, in this quiet life, nothing felt missing.

One day he would inherit the family business, And be joined in marriage to the house of a daughter of a respectable family friend. It would then be his turn to pass the ancestors' traditions on to his descendants.

There was no conceivable path other than this.

4. The battle in the north continued into its 47th winter. Shadows of the flames of war extended towards Miguel's village.

Soldiers armed with bayonets arrived. The crop fields were devastated to shreds. His father, mother, and even his grandmother with a long-time leg injury, were all killed. The house was set aflame.

In the village, the ones being utterly crushed underfoot in the inferno and the screaming, Miguel turned his back on them, and fled alone.

5. He was headed for Havenna.

In that city whose name he once heard, The pleasure and the numbness, was said to make one forget everything. For Miguel, this was necessary.

He could only keep walking.

There was absolutely nothing but ruined land and yet, Like a fool, he continued

6. Upon reaching Havenna, Miguel started work in a room of the night.

As he had nothing, his only option was to sell himself.

Every night, he filled the loneliness of random strangers. As the days added up, he sensed a growing thirst inside.

In the overwhelm of his own misery, whenever he was alone, He remembered life in his hometown and cried often.

7. He wanted support from someone but, Fleeing the village alone made him ashamed of himself. Even to close friends, he was unable to open his heart.

By going to these lengths simply to gather money, He felt as if he was becoming defiled.

Gradually, this grew into a sense of punishment for his sins. He thought instead that he deserved to become defiled.

8. At this same time, a woman in a similar line of work Became friends with him. She was a liar. It was carefree and easy.

When they had free time, they would purchase it from each other. It supported him living in Havenna, however; He thought they would never be truly close.

He liked her, but all possible paths seemed to lead to ruin, So he was afraid.

9. At one point, he fell in love with his friend's friend. Despite being in Havenna, she was inexperienced and pretty.

10. Rukiora. "Farewell to the night" He thought the name quite strange, but it seemed to be her real name.

His heart was stolen by her clear singing voice. He could never say it, but he wanted her all to himself he tho-….

11. Rukiora always dreamt of a future outside of Havenna.

Outside of Havenna was beautiful, it was fun. Everything would happily exist out there for certain.

He wanted to tell her for her sake. Someday she would know the truth and he wanted to keep her from being hurt.

12. "You're wrong, Rukiora. The outside is wasteland as far as the eye can see. The rice paddies, the fields, they aren't there. I know this. It's where I came from."

13. (Neji's note/ Miguel leaves Havenna. On his departure, he tells Rukiora one final lie. He returns to his homeland and begins sowing seeds.)

[Note: Ishida says that these are his personal ideas so they aren't considered proper canon without Towada as they both created the game closely together. Towada retweeted the thread.

I also wanted to acknowledge a Japanese friend (who asked to stay anonymous) for their help.]

[mayonayys]

A Single Thread

Chapter 1

Tags: Shadow Dragon Rook, Original Characters, Eventual Romance, Pre-Canon, Pre-Veilguard Rating: T Words: 1,726 Summary: A glimpse into Mihren's life before she left her old identity behind—before the Shadow Dragons, before she even really knew who she was. Miriam Mercar couldn't stay one more moment as a dog of the Imperium. It hurt too much to see people like herself be shoved to the bottom while she got to live in comfort. Every step she took in the path her father drew out for her shortened her leash—tightened her collar, deprived her of air. With nothing but the clothes on her back, she fled. In Dock Town she wandered, life feeling more and more meaningless with every step she took, until finally a hand was extended and there she saw a thread of salvation.

AO3 Link

The streets of Dock Town weren't unfamiliar, but they were never somewhere that Miriam Mercar had ventured without her father's broad back to follow or her brother's playful jabs at her side. The poverty was palpable here, making the humble street she grew up on seem much more luxurious than it ought to have. Every movement she caught out of the corner of her eye made her jump, and her heart wouldn't cease its useless hammering in her chest.

The ground underfoot was soft, the air hot and heavy, and the clamoring that rose from the stalls and drifted up from the docks was too much. Everything here was too much.

"Miss, spare a coin?" A hoarse voice called out.

She ignored it, content to keep her hood drawn, her eyes forward as she trekked forwards.

"For my daughter, Miss, please." Something caught at the edge of her cloak, tugging and pulling the fabric taught.

Miriam sucked in a deep breath, hands balling into the fabric of her cloak as she tugged it from the beggar's hands.

Their grip didn't relent and the struggle caused her hood to slip from her head.

Miriam quickly grabbed at her hood, but with her peripherals clear of the fabric, she couldn't block out the sight of the beggar woman next to her.

Both of her hands were stretched out, wide, forest green eyes locked onto Miriam's face, pleading for her help.

Miriam tugged at her cloak again, willing herself to not meet the woman's eyes, but when the grip on the fabric did not cease, she whirled around.

That was when she spotted the child, grubby hands clutching the edge of her cloak so tightly, like her life depended on it—the daughter, if those identical green eyes were any indicator.

Miriam ceased her fight for her cloak, gaze caught by the little girls and her unspoken plea.

The beggar woman took her opportunity, reaching forward, dirty, calloused hands grabbing gently at her own clean and well manicured ones. Her voice was hoarse, "Please, Miss, I haven't had a bite to eat in days—my daughter, she gets every scrap we can manage—but it's not enough."

The woman's hands shook, her grip unsteady—Miriam could have easily broken her hold on her, but there was something in the woman's eyes that transfixed her where she stood.

Her pain and hunger. Her fear. Her desperation.

But at the edge, something else. A glimmer of hope, which only seemed to grow the longer Miriam held her gaze.

That was when Miriam noticed her face—pale and bruised, but with thin brown lines marked across her skin.

Then she noticed her ears, sloped to a point, breaking through the lines of her greasy hair.

And she realized why the woman's eyes held hope—she was like them, and elf in these cursed Tevinter lands. And unlike them, she was not dressed in rags, she was clean, and surely, surely, she would help them.

Her heart ached.

She was in no position to help anyone—in weeks, if not days, she was likely to be in the same position, begging, with no prospects and nothing to her name but suffering.

"I—" Miriam's voice came out broken. It'd been so long since she'd spoken to anyone, her last few days had been spent entirely avoiding speaking to anyone. "I have nothing." She finally got out, heart breaking as the woman's lips began to tremble.

"Please," she heard a smaller, meeker, voice.

It was the girl, and she'd pulled Miriam's cloak closer to herself, her small wan face pressed against the soft fabric.

Miriam's mouth went dry at the sight as the woman's hands slipped from her wrists.

"Don't, dear, please." The woman nearly fell to her knees, hands pulling at her daughter's grip, her bony fingers trying weakly to pry the child's dirty hands away from the cloak.

Miriam couldn't stand the sight, the small pleas that the woman made with her daughter, nor the desperate way the little one clung to her, blinking back tears as she buried her face in the cloak.

She was acting before she could even think it through. Her own hands were shaking, but she made quick work of undoing the cloak, the silver buttons slipping loose with only a bit of coaxing.

She leaned forward, the mother letting out a gasp of surprise as Miriam draped the cloak around mother and daughter.

"It's alright," she said softly, crouching down.

"But this is…" The mother's hands grabbed at the cloak, fingers gliding over the soft fabric, "too much." She whispered out as she caught a silver button between her fingers, eyes wide as it caught a ray of sunlight.

"It's not nearly enough," Miriam did her best to keep her voice level and not let any of her own emotion seep through.

The little girl finally pulled the cloak from her face, looking up at Miriam with a quivering lip.

"No need to cry," Miriam told her, using her cloak to wipe a bit of the dirt from the child's face.

The mother wrapped her trembling arms around her daughter, pulling the cloak tight around them.

"May the Maker bless you," her voice wavered and she pressed a kiss to the top of her daughter's head.

Miriam forced a smile, "I've not much, but to this, you are welcome, I hope—"

The woman shook her head, a motion that looked violent on such a frail body. "This is too much, truly, we cannot keep this." With great reluctance, she pulled the cloak off of them. "The guards will think we've stolen it—the brokers will not give us what it's worth."

Miriam's smile faltered, "But—"

"Anything else—coin, something small, nearly worthless—but nothing so grand." The woman shoved the cloak back into Miriam's hands. The little girl whimpered as her mother pulled her to her, allowing her to bury her face into her skirts.

Miriam set her jaw, something like anger sparking inside her. She was giving this, willingly, were things so bad here that she couldn't even do this much for them?

"Where is a good place to pawn it then, I will sell it myself." Miriam stood quickly, throwing the cloak back over her shoulders and fastening it at her throat.

"You would…" The woman nodded her head slowly, coming to understand what was being offered. "I know a place." She finally said.

"Then lead the way." Miriam nodded, gesturing forward.

-

The streets that the woman—who went by the name of Panlin, daughter Bryn—had taken her down were worse than where she'd ventured before. She'd kept her cloak wrapped tighter around her as they slipped through alleyways and holes in fences, but finally the grime of the slums gave way to more well maintained streets.

Magic had pulsed through the air more clearly here. The colorful glow of shop signs illuminated the streets, casting shades of vibrant blues and pinks across puddles and the faces of passersby. The natural light of the sun was blocked out by tall buildings and awnings overhead, making the place feel even more disconnected from the city around it than it already was.

The pawn shop they'd ushered her into had shelves upon shelves of items—from mundane to glittering and gold. The broker was a sweet talker, oozing with sleazy charisma, that unfortunately might have worked better on her had her thoughts not been so preoccupied with the mother and daughter that waited outside.

He'd haggled more than she would have liked, but she left the shop without her cloak and a concerning amount of coins in her pockets.

"Here." Miriam reached out her hand. Bryn outstretched her hands, eyes wide, ready to receive whatever Miriam had to offer.

Miriam knelt next to the girl, cupping her hands in her own before placing the coins firmly in her palm. She curled Bryn's fingers closed around the cool, shiny metal, encasing her hands fully in her own.

"I spoke to the shopkeeper, there is a place nearby that will let you a room for a whole week for this. They'll even give you breakfast every day." Miriam told her, a tight smile on her face. "And in a week, I'll be back."

Bryn's eyes grew wide. "Breakfast every day?" She gasped, looking up to her mother in disbelief.

"This is…" Panlin began to protest again, but stopped as a wide smile broke across Bryn's face.

"It's not nearly enough." Miriam finished for Panlin as she stood to her full height.

"How will we ever repay you?" Panlin whispered, brow creasing deeply, expression caught somewhere between relief and grief.

"You'll keep her safe." Miriam patted Bryn on the head, the young girl had opened her palms, gently turning the coins in her hand, counting them over and over again.

"And what will you be doing this coming week? You said you had nothing, but surely you have somewhere to go." Panlin pressed, watching Bryn play with the coins.

"I'll find work." Miriam assured, hand going to rest on the hilt of the shortsword on her hip.

Panlin gave her an uneasy look, taking the smallest step back. "Are you a mercenary?" She asked hesitantly. "The only good mercenary work involves things like finding slaves—is that what you do, because if so, I don't think we can—"

"No, no" Miriam threw up her hands, eyes going wide. "No, I'm not a mercenary—at least not yet—and I won't be doing any slave hunting. I don't know what I'll do, but not that—never that." She assured, but Panlin still looked uneasy.

"I promise." Miriam said, "Whatever I find, I'll make sure it's honest—nothing that could hurt our people, we have to stick together."

"Our people," Panlin said softly. Even though her hands still trembled, she gently brushed over Bryn's hair, pushing the dirty strands out from her face and tucking them behind her ear. She scoffed. "I'm not sure our people have ever done me much good, but…" She breathed deeply, "but perhaps this is a start." She nodded resolutely to Miriam.

"It has to start somewhere," Miriam offered her a sad smile. "And we should get you to those lodgings, I'm sure a good, safe rest and some food could do you both very well."

[wutheringheightsfilm]

Thank you for answering my Arcane ask, I'm shy to come off anon but I love critical discussion of Arcane/League/Riot and I love to hear your thoughts! This is long again so no pressure, I understand if you want to be done. Honestly, I totally forgot about the child murder scene, he straight up kills a kid. I got too caught up in Arcane's pattern of using Zaun as a setting for Unique And Evil Danger. I've seen people defend Jayce with the fact he didn't know kids would be there, but I think the bigger point is that he brought a magic bazooka to shoot up a bunch of factory workers.

The fact that Mel and Ekko are so underutilized as two powerhouse factions in the opposing sides of a class war is nonsensical and it makes zero sense. Mel is one of the more compelling characters since there are maybe four of those in the entire cast, I just have to forget that she's at the highest level of the Piltover plutocracy but she was so close at the end of season 1, I thought the show might actually commit to her character development. The fact that she's lost her influence with the council just as she's rejected her mother's legacy, which puts her in a similar position as her childhood, could have been so good with her doing something concrete. It's like any time a character starts to actualize even a vague solidarity with Zaun, the show immediately sidelines them, literally zaps them into the third dimension? Why is Caitlyn more present than Mel in Ambessa's storyline right now??? And Ekko being the only character with an established following able to fight back is just GONE for the entire invasion, almost as though the show is scared of depicting a justified rebellion. Ekko should have decked Jayce, but the show couldn't even let him scold Jayce uninterrupted for putting the Hextech failsafe in Zaun.

If only Silco hadn't missed his shot, Vi would've been put out of her misery before she could deepthroat Piltover's boot. Caitlyn was bad in season 1 too but I can't get into that without listing the 573393 reasons she deserves to die, but she's been a pig this whole time.

Also, I want to clarify that Viktor isn't exactly a beacon of political awareness in the League lore (shocking, I know!!), He was originally created to be an Evil Communist/mad scientist archetype until they reworked his story to be more ambiguously heroic/morally gray. He's genuinely more fucked up in League but also more compelling and actively more involved in helping Zaun (unlike how divorced he is from his roots in Arcane until he's suddenly magic evil Moses) and he does turn on Piltover. Fun fact, his work gets stolen by a Piltover professor and the show does put that professor in the show for two seconds, as the golden statue Heimerdinger shows to Jayce when he lectures him about being a force for "good" instead of focused purely on science. Btw, fuck Heimerdinger too! Let Ekko interact with anyone other than the Piltover bootlickers ffs....

There's so much to criticize with how popular this show is, I embarrassingly had to cut down this huge ask not to go into more stuff. Thank you for listening!!

sorry for taking so long to answer this!!! omg i'll probably put my answer under a cut cus i'm sure i'll have a lot to say back. i really appreciate that you like hearing my thoughts teehee!

oh arcane absolutely sets up zaun as a uniquely evil place it's so skewed

I've seen people defend Jayce with the fact he didn't know kids would be there, but I think the bigger point is that he brought a magic bazooka to shoot up a bunch of factory workers. - people are defending jayce???? and also literally like why would he bring a magical bazooka to shoot up a bunch of factory workers like idk why they were acting like jayce didn't know that it was emphasized to him that silco was the one running everything and that he was keeping everyone underfoot (not entirely true because obviously he had help) so why would you ... bring a giant weapon to hurt civilians with

It's like any time a character starts to actualize even a vague solidarity with Zaun, the show immediately sidelines them, literally zaps them into the third dimension? - SAY THATTT like it has bothered me so much! just when ekko was getting more and more interesting, bam he's gone in another plane of existence. just when heimerdinger is finally working with the undercity for once in his miserable life, bam, another plane of existence. right when viktor has gone back to the undercity? nope. killed. we literally can't have shit around here!! the fact that mel has been so sidelined in favor for CAITLYN is absolutely fucking absurd. like please say sike are you fucking joking

i wouldve loved to see mel and sevika work together about something. someone make that happen

And Ekko being the only character with an established following able to fight back is just GONE for the entire invasion, almost as though the show is scared of depicting a justified rebellion. Ekko should have decked Jayce, but the show couldn't even let him scold Jayce uninterrupted for putting the Hextech failsafe in Zaun. - SAY IT ALL. SAY IT ALL.

ekko and mel getting so sidelined like this just speaks to the antiblackness of the writers but who tf is surprised

If only Silco hadn't missed his shot, Vi would've been put out of her misery before she could deepthroat Piltover's boot. Caitlyn was bad in season 1 too but I can't get into that without listing the 573393 reasons she deserves to die, but she's been a pig this whole time. -- literally no fucking notes LMAOOOO this is exactly what ive been thinking 😭 it would have been infinitely more interesting if Vi had teamed up with Ekko to try and overthrow Silco instead of teaming up with Caitlyn but we can't have that apparently

i hate caitlyn and i always will i will never understand the appeal of caitvi. shoot me for it idc (not you anon, the masses LOL)

of course viktor was the evil communist isn't his voice actor doing a czech accent lmao . im sure hes more fucked up in game but i would love to see the more compelling version of him tbh . i honestly hated how divorced he was from the undercity until he became jesus for some reason like ugh god

fuck heimerdinger though you're so right about that. mfer took 300 years to help the undercity??? DIE HAMSTER

this show has so many problems but you wouldn't think it does because everyone is like arcane is the best cartoon since sliced bread. and i honestly don't know why tbh LMAO

anyways thank you for another ask!!! feel free to go off whenever you like <3

[tiredassmage]

oc questionnaire

I'm delightfully spoiled because I actually have two of these to fill out now, but finally getting the time to catch up on some tags now that I'm moved in for the new fall semester! Gonna tackle my tags for this individually, starting with @kemendin's set! Tysm!

I said I missed my bg3 blorbos, so I decided to do this for Ambrose! (And got to crying over his playthrough clips again, what of it? x3)

What is your OC's preferred/favorite environment? Bustling or serene, filled with people or totally alone? Do they like being out in nature or surrounded by technology etc? Do they have a favorite climate/weather type?

Either extreme in excess have posed challenges for Ambrose before. The hustle and overflow of Baldur’s Gate, for example, poses as much opportunity to disappear among the crowds as it did numerous opportunities to be trampled underfoot, or find herself in yet another arrangement using her for her abilities - or, perhaps worst of all, enough unfamiliar faces he was uncertain there was anyone to be trusted to keep him out of her former master’s hands.

So, that said, he prefers something more quiet, though he’d like to still share it with some small company. Not all of their travels were to locales she’d be keen to revisit, but when the dust settles, Ambrose still enjoys traveling at Shadowheart’s side and takes great comfort from living amongst the recovering trees with Halsin. In her youth, when he would not be busy with magical drills and training under the hawk-like gaze of her master and overseers, Ambrose would enjoy some of the quiet to be found on a rocky section of beach on their island home. She would often sit out there with Ysabel, her closest friend from those days. The crash of the waves would often do much to soothe his frayed nerves. These days, the brush of grass and leaves underfoot is similarly soothing. She’s fond of spring, when flowers begin to bloom and the earth begins to come alive anew - a little taste of liberty, love, and hope that does much for one that was often plagued by doubts.

What’s something your OC is often conflicted about? A choice they made, their place or purpose in the world, a relationship they have with someone, etc? How does this conflict manifest, and how do they deal with it, if at all?

What isn’t she conflicted about, she may have bitterly wondered not all that long ago. Again, the trials she came to share with her companions did… a lot, really, as much as they also challenged and strained her even further. Ambrose would love to say he never set out to save the world, or ruin it, but it felt as though he was doomed to one or the other from birth. Her parents were foretold her magic would be quite strong - something that posed wonder and excitement for those of her homeland before it grew quickly apparent that she… had some oddities. Wild Magic. Uncontrollable magic. Something to be reprimanded, then feared, then… reprimanded some more.

Her parents let the master take her away - for training, he said. So she wouldn’t pose such a risk to herself or others. He would give her purpose, he said to her. He promised her. As long as she followed the rules, his orders… everything would be fine… He’d said…

But Ambrose could never quite get the kind of control of his magic that her new ‘caretakers’ desired. She could decimate armies, they believed - so long as the ice storms and lightning didn’t also backfire - with… some actual fire. Several times. He prefers to wear longer gloves with his robes to mask some of the more… scarring, explosive incidents that left their marks up her arm. She’d ran from all of that before the world decided to go to the Hells with mindflayers and cultists, as if he didn’t have enough to worry about.

And the result was that Ambrose was… skittish, at times. Reserved. Head down, tried not to draw attention to herself. Not that the whole… tadpoles and invasion and all that left much choice there - and… somewhere along the way, that… clicked, finally. Choice. Something long taken out of her hands. Something he had left up to others to define him. That he was too dangerous, she was uncooperative, some… hapless lamb in need of guidance. True, it takes a great deal of travels and trials with her new companions for Ambrose to finally realize… enough. Enough with being beholden, to letting fear and someone else’s greed define her.

Raphael may nearly have caught her in yet another web, but… perhaps he can thank the devil for that much. Dragons, demons, mindflayers… Finally, it was all enough to make Ambrose realize she had her own damn spine. And she was going to use it. With, of course, no small amount of thanks also to the support of lovers like Shadowheart and Halsin, and stalwart hearts like Karlach and Wyll. She owes much to their guidance and support. None of it would have been possible without them. She won’t soon forget what they taught her. That’s a promise.

Does your OC have an object that’s particularly important to them? Why is it special? Do they carry it with them, or if not, where do they keep it? How would they react if it were lost/stolen/destroyed?

That little wooden duck Halsin carves for him as they settle down means the world to him. It fits comfortably in her palm, and she enjoys tracing the grooves in the wood that define the wings, the feathers. That Halsin gifted it to her alone would be enough, but that it is crafted with such care to fit so carefully within her hands… And in a pocket, for when he leaves to travel with Shadowheart. It is to take a piece of home with them, and reminds her that she has a home now - somewhere he is safe and loved. He always keeps it close. If it is not traveling with him, it is on a nightstand, or carefully set beside the bedroll - so it’s like Halsin is with them. When they return from their travels, he likes to briefly return it to Halsin’s hands to share their latest journey’s stories. The children seem quite fond of this, too.

It… could, as a physical object, be replaced, true. But it would devastated her to misplace, and she’d frankly probably be willing to risk a fireball or large icey swath of doom if someone tried to steal it from her or damage it intentionally. In it, Ambrose has bequeathed his found sense of identity and family, his hopes and dreams that finally felt safe enough to have. It is symbolic of no longer having to be afraid of herself. It would be heartbreaking to lose and… again, he… has learned he’s quite powerful on an explosive sense of self and temperament. She’d hold it on good authority that the Hells hold no fury quite like a wild magic sorcerer scorned.

Tags! Hmm.. I think a lot of my usual suspects have beat me to this one, butttt... I'm gonna second a tag for @ho1ythunder :3 @viennen annndd... @kartaylirsden if y'all would like to answer some blorbo questions? :3

Here are my questions for your blorbos <3

What is your OC's preferred method of travel/transportation? What do they enjoy about it? What do they dislike about it? Is there another means they would prefer to use, if they had the option? (IE, if their preferred method is on-foot, would they like some sort of vehicle or animal to rely on?)

Is there someone in your OC's life that motivates them towards a goal? A friend, a family member, a colleague, a romantic partner? Is that motivation inspiring, something they look up to? Or is it more of a pressure in their life, something that feels perhaps like a burden?

How does your OC handle failure? Of a task, of an obligation to someone? What lengths might they go to in efforts to avoid failure, or the feeling of it?

[sanchoyoscribbles]

These were the absolute fastest redesigns of my LIFE after writing that long alien clothes meta. The old ones weren't THAT old but given tmmn's latest ep giving us a LOT more looks at alien fashion...I Went For It and just. gave the ladies more clothes. actively fighting the urge to redesign ALL of my alien ocs...

I renamed Chiffon to Shebakia given we now have a canon Chiffon haha... 😶 I think people would call her Sheb for short. She LOOKs like a Sheb (compliment.) I really didn't give THAT much info about them in the old post, so...you know what? More info about them under the cut. 👇

Two alien ladies, Shebakia and Eclaire! The art of them in their 20s was around 20 years (ish...?) before TM2 starts, so they'd be in their 40s while TM2 is happening.

Eclaire is a seamstress and has a somewhat abrasive, self-centered personality. She doesn't get along with a lot of people, and doesn't bother to try. Her quality of work speaks for itself, and she figures the only friend she REALLY needs is Shebakia.

Shebakia is her absolute best friend since they've known each other since they were children, and Eclaire feels possessive/protective towards her because Shebakia is a lot more quiet and gentle. (....There may or may not have been a one-sided love there. :))

Shebakia is soft-spoken, but not actually a total pushover. She works as a gardener and doesn't mind getting her hands dirty or doing 'rough' work. She just really enjoys being outside and working in nature! Her and Eclaire are opposites in that way, and Sheb finds it really funny that Eclaire keeps making her such nice clothes knowing she'll just end up getting them dirty. (Eclaire says she'll keep making clothes for Her Girl so she looks nice even if she's 'rolling around with the worms'. Sheb is about the only person Eclaire isn't outright rude to, but she does tease her lmao. Almost flirtily. Almost.)

...Shebakia ends up betrothed to someone else, and Eclaire, not being able to stand that but also not willing to outright confess her own feelings, inserts herself under the guise of being a live-in nanny/helper with the intention of sabotaging the relationship. (Of course, Sheba is thrilled because living with the two people she loves most sounds great, she'd love for her best friend to help raise her kid with her and her partner! Oh, yeah, Shebakia is pregnant now. Whoops. Much harder to sabotage a relationship with a kid underfoot...it COMPLICATES things, just a tad.)

...But Eclaire's help is very soon necessary because Shebakia gets really, really ill, something Eclaire decides the pregnancy made way worse/sped up because it took so much strain on an already ill Shebakia's body. Her health continues to decline, but she lives for roughly 7-8 years after before finally passing away, with Eclaire dedicating as MUCH time as possible to trying to care for her and going into depression over this herself.

Eclaire is devastated, but in the way that she's numb and doesn't want to live on this stupid world without Her Sheb. She knew it was coming. But that doesn't make it hurt less. She hangs around for maybe another 7 years, making some very poor choices trying to cope and feel normal before deciding, nope, she can't hang around here with Everything Making her Think Of The Girl She Was Never Technically With but In Love with, no one on this planet can fix anything, she's too stressed and wants none of the responsibility she has now. She needs a new start. So... she steals a small ship and decides to explore the stars.

Eclaire is now a space pirate. Eclaire now has a crew of various alien species. Eclaire has now successfully entirely missed the Uchushi invasion, and her people evacuating onto Queen's ship and heading to Earth.

Eclaire Does Not Know About Any Of That. Missed the plot entirely. But she DOES know about Earth, duh, all the aliens do. Their people originally came from there, all the mew business happened there.

...Maybe she'll pop back into the story for a quick visit.

Surely that'll be okay! Just a quick tourism pit stop!

:)

(by the way, it's hard to tell bc her pose and her arm covering it but Eclaire's younger design's sash has gold stripe in the middle ><;; aaand she cut her hair short for ease of styling, but also..doesn't it resemble Shebakia's...? :") )

ALSO!!! I went scrounging around my old deviantart and found the very very first draft of Eclaire (...maybe not actually the first? but the..one I could actually find amongst my messy dA account, lmao) from 2018!! still the same idea, just...impractical mesh spacesuit, for the sake of boob window...? and yowch at those boots 😭 originally orange-eyed tho. Changed that...

[hriobzagelthewanderer]

(FaeCourt!Amata obviously)

"There are whispers of war on the horizon, my lord." It's not like her to address him with such formality, but such a grave situation likely called for it.

"You're no doubt aware of the conflict between the boy and the vampires, but the matter appears to be escalating faster than we anticipated. Choices must be made, and soon."

"...so it would seem. I continue to work towards de-escalating the situation, and yet conditions continue to collapse towards conflict. I have already made arrangements to take the child into protective, 'educational' custody, and made sure to inform Tepes of the situation as placatingly as possible... and yet they still refuse to play nice even as they agree with me, as I do this to prevent open war taking place before the marriage of his daughter and our Ally, Alexander."

The words of the Fae Lord were terse, weary, bitter, and rather disgusted, as if he were a jaded janitor speaking of yet another mess in a High School Bathroom instead of an impending multi-realm conflict between multiple kingdoms... yet his tone maintained an unmistakable air of gravitas and dread under it all, like a layer of permafrost chilling from underfoot.

"...Inform me of any further emergencies or discrepancies between current events and our predictive models. Additionally, Keep the Knights and Guards on Heightened Alert... and inform Miss Maribelle that we may need her services for a provisional member far sooner than expected, in regards to ethics and conflict management discussions; I can handle standard training for the child all too well, but if we are to maintain validity I may need an extra hand or second opinion in regards to the more... morally driven or dubious issues."

...another sigh, as the Fae sat on a throne of gnarled oak and timeless slate, a hand covering his face and propping his head in such a manner that only one eye - gleaming Azure in a rather chilling manner - as he spoke, grimly focused on something perhaps only she too could see looming in the not-so-distant-future.

"...there are too many factors to track things so easily, but you and I both know we cannot afford to let the bickering fools waste their power and armies against each other at this stage, so long as we can prevent it. We are going to need everything we can use if we are to stop Her when she decides to finally act - and that means preparing as much as we can as she bides her time."

[foxclcves]

𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒆 (𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 08)

Lucille hated the endless blank sky. All winter, they all couldn’t catch a break from the weather and all of its flurries and storms and blizzards, and not having a hearth to curl up against every night made it feel all the more indefinite. Whenever she started to miss the baker, and his warm, fresh breads and his perpetually heated kitchen, she would begin collecting twigs and sticks and any other kind of wood she could heave into her arms and onto her shoulders, and then dump it all into a pile and hoping to make a fire out of it. She had a full book of matches she had lifted from a general store not too long ago, but it would do no good, she’d realize again and again. As cold as the snow was, it still made everything wet, and no flame could thrive on her collection of meager firewood. She’d almost thrown down the matchbook in frustration, but would think better of it because wet matches wouldn’t do a lot of good, either.

Kicking at a pile of snow, the light powder stirred upwards into a weak icy cloud for but a moment before it fell among the masses again. It was satisfying for only a few seconds before she pressed her fists against her hips and glared up at the sky. It had begun snowing again, and she growled in annoyance.

“Stupid snow!” Lucille bellowed out. She stomped her foot once into the snow, then more times until her leg tingled and her heel and knee felt tender. “You don’t make anything easy, I hate you so much! Why don’t you make like spring and melt already!? You—”

The remainder of her tirade was cut off when she heard something just under her uproarious ranting, the breath catching in her throat and her mid-stomping body becoming rigid. She swore she heard something—the snapping of twigs, the crunching of snow underfoot, icicles cracking and falling to the earth with some sort of sound, like a thump or a shatter. She kept herself perfectly still and quiet, breathing as shallow as she could in such frigid air.

She was on a road, but one that was currently unoccupied, and surrounded by all sides with tall, thick trees. Lowering her foot and straightening, glancing every which way she could into the endless forest, she chided herself most sternly: Lucille, you are shouting at yourself in the middle of the woods, you stupid girl. Best not attract any more attention than you already probably have. And it most likely ain’t the human kind, either.

From this point, she could not tell how far she was from the nearest town or any other human claimed establishment or territory, and had no inkling of what time it was, the damned blanketed sky hiding everything. With a final glare of defiance towards powers who were obviously taunting her, she stuck up her nose and continued her march down the road, adjusting the mittens she had also lifted around her hands and wrists.

Despite being on edge now that she has reminded herself of her current whereabouts and wellbeing and all, Lucille allows herself to think of the future, if not to just pass the time since she had no traveling partner or other things to distract her, but not distract her too much. She wondered if she’d ever reach a time when she wouldn’t have to steal things to get by—sure, they were the absolute necessities and she always made sure they wouldn’t be missed, but she felt dreadful every time she did it. Well, maybe not every time. Some people deserved to get robbed, if you asked her; keeping all their riches and fortune to themselves while others froze and starved on the streets, well, it just wasn’t right. She vowed right then and there that if she were to, out of astonishing circumstances, become wealthy—if she lived long enough—well she’d promise to do good by it. Maybe she’d open up a shelter or two, so people down on their luck could sleep in a bed every night and eat three meals a day and meet other people, not be lonely and have a shoulder to cry on when they needed to. Yes, that’d suit her just fine. Or maybe she could open up her own bakery, learn how to bake and cook and all, and then send that ol’ baker something really special, as an apology for all the trouble she no doubt caused for him. A heavy sigh escaped her at the thought, and she folded her arms as she tread uphill. Did she even deserve most or any of the forgiveness that she wanted? She was too afraid of what could be the answer, to be sure.

And what’s all this thought about opening shelters and helping people when she couldn’t even help herself? People like her, well… people didn’t like people who were like her, if they’d even heard of what sort of human she was and what she could do. It was bad enough that she was a thief, homeless, but a runaway child, as well—frankly, she was surprised that she hadn’t seen any wanted posters of her yet, for whatever crimes she committed or…

Well. Maybe they didn’t want her to get any attention. They had their sights on her after all, but sometimes she pondered that maybe, just maybe, after all this time they decided to forget about her and carry onto new things. But she doubted that, too, and refused to allow herself to become complacent and let her guard down. They could snatch her up at any time if she did, she knew. She still didn’t understand why she was so valuable, but at the same time, she did, and it sickened her. They won’t be catching little miss evasive Lucille Louise, no they would not. Not if she had anything to do or say about it, but she wondered how much that was and how much that would matter, too. A little breeze picked up then, and she cursed it as she adjusted her scarf over her ears and forehead.

She let her hand linger on the scarf, and through the thick mittens she could feel the design woven into its knit work. It was a fine scarf by her standards, but she had gotten it through Mister Dalton, and compared to him and all of his get up and that sparkling pocket watch of his, the scarf was ratty and unfit. She wondered why he had it in the first place, if it actually belonged to him or if he had found it and was holding onto it.

“I’m happy to see the old thing finally putting itself to good use.”

She knew the cold didn’t bother him at all, as he was never dressed for it, so keeping the scarf for himself didn’t make sense. She scoffed at the notion that he had been saving it for her, as Mister Dalton and the idea of being remotely helpful just didn’t go together. No… she didn’t mean that, not at all.

“Do you know why I brought you here? Because this is hallowed ground. You’re safe here.”

Pursing her lips against the breeze and hunching her shoulders closer to her neck, Lucille trudged on, her fingers and toes feeling the tickle of the cold but mostly protected. She had not seen Mister Dalton since then, and she wondered if she’d ever see him again. She had a feeling she would… something inside of her felt it.

“It’s just the way of things. Even if one really wanted to, if they cannot enter hallowed ground, then that’s simply how it is.”

“Are you protecting me?”

“No. I am not a protector, Lucille.”

“Then what are you, Mister Dalton?” She asked herself out loud, her teeth chattering some when she did. “And… what do you want, anyway? What makes you so special, and why can you go on this ‘hallowed ground’ but apparently no one else can?”

“Remember what I’ve told you, Lucille. You must remain strong. And if you find it to be any consolation, I do believe in you, truly. You are something special.”

Lucille gradually slowed her painstaking journey to a halt. She lifted her head and stared onward, a thoughtful frown on her mouth and her eyes on what would have been the horizon beyond the trees. The breeze made pine branches quiver, and what things they had to tell her, if only she was paying attention. But, she was not.

“Who are you?” she asked, to no one. To someone.

[hexstrom]

Astrid’s face twisted in a storm of fury, ocean hues blazing as she took a step toward Miss Loretta. The crunch of a shattered teacup piece underfoot punctuated the movement, its sharp sound slicing through the stillness that had momentarily fallen over the room. The weight of her past—the fear and the loss—swirled together, tightening around her chest, its weight nothing short of suffocating. Her voice surged, raw and trembling, each word she managed to choke out heavier than the last. "Þú veist eigi minn sársauka! Þú—Y-You never will!" The accusation poured from her lips, harsh and forceful. "Så do not say you know me! Do not say you know what I have gone through!" Each syllable was like a dagger, driven by the sheer force of her buried anguish. Her body tensed, fists clenching; the room seemed to close in around her, tightening like a noose.

Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, chest heaving as she tried to contain the torrent of emotions crashing over her like a tsunami. She took another step forward, eyes narrowing, her voice trembling now with a mixture of both fear and confusion. "If you are not a-a spådomskunniga—" There was no way she was going to remember the English term in that moment, not in her current state. "—Vad... What are you? Who are you? H-How do you know om—" Her voice wavered, breaking into a hoarse whisper. "—om... m-m-min son?" The word hung in the air, laden with her desperation, her voice cracking under its weight. Darkened, tear-filled eyes searched Miss Loretta's face, desperately seeking an answer—anything that could make sense of this waking nightmare.

The anger that had burned so fiercely inside her began to falter, flickering like a dying flame. It was a foreign sensation—vulnerability creeping in where fury once held its firm grasp. The walls she’d built to protect herself had now cracked, revealing a rawness she wasn’t ready to face. Her breath came in sharp, shallow gasps, her grief now so much stronger than the anger that had once acted to shield it. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms to the point of drawing blood; but it did nothing to take away from the ache in her heart.

Astrid’s gaze dropped, unable to hold Miss Loretta’s any longer. The lump in her throat pressed so painfully that she could barely breathe. She swayed slightly, struggling to stay upright, before the weight of everything crushed her. Slowly, her legs buckled; and she sank to her knees, the cold floor grounding her as her body trembled. Lips pressed tight together in a weak attempt to hold back the flood; but it was hopeless. It was all hopeless. The sobs came anyway—soft, broken, uncontrolled... “Ingen vet...” Her voice barely broke the silence, fragile and thin, shattering under the weight of all the grief she’d carried alone for so long. It felt like a confession—something she could no longer keep buried deep within her.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was no fight left in her—only a painful surrender to everything she’d been running from.

The crash of porcelain and Astrid's sharp tone settled into the room’s stillness, the broken tea pooling onto the floorboards only for the very wood to drink greedily, devouring the tea as though it had been poured especially for it. The teacup, unfortunately (or fortunately?) remained broken on the floor.

She let the young woman’s panic fill the space, let the questions echo and dissipate before she spoke.

“I see you,” she said softly, her voice low and soothing. “Not in the way you’re afraid I might; not with sight that peers into shadows you’ve hidden from others. No, it’s not like that.” She leaned forward slightly, just enough to meet Astrid’s stormy gaze, her expression open but touched with a faint sadness. “I know the shape of your pain and from there - I was able to draw a conclusion that you proved correct.”

Loretta gestured gently to the empty seat Astrid had left, her movements unhurried and deliberate, like someone approaching a frightened, injured, animal. “Before you sit, let me pick up the shards before the floor thinks it can adjust and have porcelain pieces among the wood knots.We’ll talk, if you want. Or you can sit, and I’ll do the talking.” A faint smile touched her lips then. “Either way, you’re not leaving this house without your breath finding its rhythm again.”

She stood up and then bent down to pick up the pieces only for one piece to stubbornly remain in the wood. She brushed her fingers over it. The Astrid Piece... she mulled over for a moment. "You don’t have to tell me. Not any piece of your story. I won’t ask unless you offer. But let me be clear about one thing, deerling, whatever you fear about me, whatever weight you carry... it’s safe to lay some of it down here. This house has held heavier burdens than ours before, and it hasn’t crumbled yet.”

Loretta’s opossum, who had been perched quietly in the corner, shifted and padded closer to the edge of the table, sniffing the air in Astrid’s direction. Loretta glanced at the small creature, then back to the Swede. She set the broken pieces - all save one. With one sharp move, she sliced the shard across her palm and allowed the blood to drip onto the porcelain piece now a permanent part in the floor. "I am not your enemy. You'll find no danger from me, or the house - this I swear."

She tilted her head slightly, her expression unwaveringly patient. “Now… will you let me help you, Astrid? Or shall we simply sit together until you can find your feet again? You won't have to run - you only need to walk through the garden and out the gate."